


rivers and roads

by spiderwebsitar



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Western, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 141,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderwebsitar/pseuds/spiderwebsitar
Summary: "He shifted in his seat, fixing Gavin with a meaningful look. 'They said the RK brothers would never be caught. But look what happened to the younger one.'Gavin had heard the story back down in Texas. Nine had a younger brother, just as lawless and coldhearted as he was. Between the two of them they had taken countless lives, nobody knew the exact number. It was probably well over a hundred, or more. But Gavin didn’t have to worry about the brother. He was dead."~It should be a pretty routine trip. Pick up the criminals, trek the nearly two thousand miles across the frontier, drop off the prisoners to be sentenced, move along to the next job. But thanks to the hired hand Hank is ordered to bring along, things go a lot differently than he planned.Meanwhile, a bounty hunter tracks his greatest target, a ruthless killer with a ten thousand dollar bounty on his head.





	1. me and god don’t need a middle man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was birthed from a whole lot of PBRs and a weekend of watching westerns. I did take a lot of liberties with actual events, the historical timeline, even geography a little bit probably. I did try to look at maps and other resources throughout writing to keep things as accurate as possible when it came town names and places and things like that.
> 
> But yes I’m pretty sure this is not how things were in the mid 19th century American West, and I don’t think bounty hunting or prisons or wagons work like this. I’m not trying to clumsily address how shitty of a time period this was for a lot of people, I’m just trying to capture this nonsense. I have a feeling it will be long..

~~~

 

 _Anderson,_  

_I have a job for you leaving on the 15th of this upcoming month, heading down to Arizona with a four-man cargo. Should be about a ten month round trip all things considered. The pay is real reasonable and the state will pay to give you a horse and a hired hand in addition to the usual set of oxen and wagon per our usual contract. You’d be picking up the prisoners in Newport and continuing west from there. Meet me at the office at half past ten on Monday and we will discuss further._

_If you’re not interested I will accept your refusal of the offer only by certified mail._

_JF_

 

~~~

 

“I’m not taking along any hired _fucking_ hands,” Hank growled.

“Yes you are, for this rate,” Jeffrey Fowler said. He sat cross-armed in his chair, behind his great mahogany desk, his body framed by two big stacks of parchment contracts. Jeffrey’s face was pinched with annoyance, as usual in his dealings with the other man. “Not to mention this is a decent sized group you got here, Anderson. Four small-time crooks for two thousand miles? You need somebody. Nothing wrong with a partner.”

“I can handle it. Plus, I got Sumo.” Hank stood up and stuck his hands in his jacket, searching for his tobacco, as his dog snored next to Jeffrey’s desk. He began to pace back and forth across the office, full of bookshelves and maps, the closest thing he could call to his place of employment in this goddamn world. “I’m telling you. Tell the feds to keep their money. Or better yet, don’t tell them, and we’ll split it.”

“Look Hank,” Jeffrey said, unamused, “if you don’t make it to Tucson with at least one of their bodies, _alive_ , you’re not getting paid shit all. You need to get all four of ‘em out there to get the full compensation. And if _you_ die and they get free, I’m not getting paid, not to mention I’m out a wagon.” He had crossed his arms while he spoke, but then he relaxed again, regarding Hank with a critical eye. “You’ve worked with a partner before. Hell, we’ve traveled together two dozen times at least. What’s the problem now? And it’s a long-term assignment. You _request_ those.”

“I’m not just not in an entertaining type of mood at the moment, Fowler,” Hank said as he finished packing his pipe, losing all the vitriol in his tone. “Ten months on the road with nothin’ but a bunch of troublemakers sounds like a god damned picnic in July. Why fuck up my routine?”

“Maybe it needs to be fucked up. Maybe you should stick around out there and spend some time out on the coast. Maybe you’ll strike gold.” Jeffrey put his glasses on and began drawing up the paperwork, ignoring Hank’s cussing. 

“You’re tryin’ to fuckin’ get rid of me,” Hank finally grunted. “Thanks for the show of support, Fowler.” 

“You’re trying to get rid of you, asshole,” Jeffrey said with an air of finality. He slapped the papers down on the desk in front of Hank. “You’re welcome.” 

Hank sat back down and they stared at each other until Hank finally said, “How long have I got to change my mind?”

“Like I said,” Jeffrey said, raising his voice as he turned back to his paperwork, “if you had fucking read my note, your refusal must be delivered in writing and by certified mail only.”

“You know I’m not going to bother with that bullshit.” 

“Then we’ll agree to meet on the tenth to discuss the route.” Jeffrey didn’t look up at him. “I’ll have your partner hired by then.” His occasional boss and occasional friend of many years wasn’t one to compromise. Hank knew when he had lost. He sat back and lit his pipe, reading over the contract, and when Jeffrey offered it, Hank took his pen.

 

~

 

Though you would have never known it for listening to his bitching, Hank didn't mind his profession too much these days. A washed up old marshal didn't have much in the way of career opportunities, but Hank had managed to carve out a little place for himself as he took on contract after contract. He got to park his ass on the front of the wagon with a pouch of tobacco and a bottle of whiskey, his dog at his side, nothing to worry about but the plains and the sky and his ill-fated passengers in the back of the wagon. If they were a well-behaved bunch and he was feeling generous, Hank would let them walk on the road ahead of the oxen. With their hands bound, tied in a row, they were easy to keep track of, even easier than transporting one man at a time.

It was kind of cathartic, in its way. The long hours spent looking over the frontier; the nights under the stars with his dog snoring next to him; the meditative moments where he checked over the animals, the wagon; and the weeks spent with the utter strangers he was delivering to their judgment day. Sometimes the trips were a couple weeks; sometimes they were a couple months. Lately Hank had practically begged Fowler to give him the longer assignments if they came in - three months, six months, eight months, a year, round trip, multiple stops, multiple sets of prisoners. It was usually difficult to find men to take those jobs, but Hank was always willing to get back on the road. It was a job without glory, a job without gratitude, but Hank didn't have much use for either of those things nowadays. He just wanted to go from coast to coast, east to west, north to south, and back again, over and over and over.

It wasn't easy, but he had a good reputation for bringing his passengers in one piece. He had delivered probably dozens of criminals across the state and territory lines over the last few years. He had fought off his share of belligerent, scared petty thieves trying to make a run for it, but never did it for fun, and never had to kill anyone, at least not yet, thank god. Unlike others in his profession, Hank had never really seen the appeal in beating and subjugating his cargo. It didn't seem necessary - and, if they died, Hank wouldn’t get paid. Some of the others Hank knew, they would push it at as far as they could to still get their money. Hank had seen his share of bloodied and bruised prisoners along the trail, and something about that sight always made him reach for his whiskey.

Sometimes the weather was shit. Sometimes he thought they’d freeze to death, or fry in the sun. Sometimes he ate nothing but beans for weeks at a time. Sometimes - most times - he consumed only whiskey and tobacco. And sometimes, the sunrise was so beautiful it would capture the breath right from Hank’s lungs, and he would stop the wagon to let the prisoners out to see it too.

And then, slowly but surely, he would make his way back to Covington.

It was a quiet, dusty little town. Hank didn’t mind returning there. Fowler would put him up in his little stable house, drinking, smoking, and sleeping until the next job came along. It had been like this for a few years now. Hank didn’t keep track anymore. After twenty years as a soldier, then a marshal, then - everything else - Hank was grateful for the change of pace, the not-quite routine that had made the last six years disappear, lost to the wind and the creak of wagon wheels.

It surprised him, that he had ended up like this. At the same time, he was grateful to be able to sink into the endless trail, the sun and the rain, camping and hunting, reading maps and smoking by the campfire, and always hovering over it all was the ever-present chance that at any time, something could go terribly wrong. And well, if he met his maker, it was no great loss.

He just wanted to do it alone, if that’s what it came to.

Now that the paperwork was signed, all Hank had to do was bide his time, and hope he didn’t drink himself into an early grave before Fowler sent him off across the west.

 

~

 

It was the Monday before Hank was set to leave, and he had barely heard shit from Fowler. Just a note posted at his door, reminding him about their meeting the next day with the man Fowler had hired to accompany Hank. It would be a typical conversation - the route, the stops, and the passengers themselves. The Jericho gang, Fowler had said. Some two-bit stagecoach robbers. Hank couldn’t care less what they had done. He was ready to leave.

He was less ready to meet this partner of his. As long as he kept to himself, Hank reasoned it couldn’t be so bad. He had traveled with his share of hired hands before. Sometimes they were alright; sometimes they were an even bigger burden than the prisoners.

Hank’s pack was already made, Sumo’s things in their own canvas sack, and so Hank had gone to Jimmy’s at mid-day. He figured he’d spend the majority of the next afternoon going over atlases and food rations, so there was no harm in relaxing another day before heading out on the road at the end of the week.

The saloon was usually pretty barren, just like the rest of the town. There wasn’t much here but the railroad tracks, Fowler’s stable and wagons, and a collection of shops and houses that eventually gave way to open farmland. And the saloon, of course. Hank sat in his usual spot at the center of the bar, reading over his previous trip’s journals. In his notes, he had written, _Next time - Shamrock._  

He scratched that out. He could always change his mind later.

Hank’s drinking and thinking was interrupted by a sudden chirping voice to his immediate right, and he turned directly into an unfamiliar palm extended for a handshake.

“Marshal Hank Anderson?” the stranger said.

Hank eyed him up and down. He was a complete stranger to Hank, a little too well-dressed for Jimmy’s, maybe even for the town itself, and definitely too well-dressed for getting on the trail. He was clean-shaven, with a full head of dark hair, way too young and way too pale to have the caravan experience Fowler always looked for.

“Excuse me, son,” Hank said, ignoring the hand in his face, “you must have the wrong Hank Anderson, because I’m no marshal.” He knocked back the rest of his whiskey, still regarding the stranger, who looked at him patiently.

“My apologies,” he said, “would you, instead, happen to be the Hank Anderson who is shortly traveling across the frontier?”

“That’d be the one,” Hank grunted, unable to stop from rolling his eyes. 

The young man stuck his hand out further, as if to remind Hank it was still there, and Hank finally begrudgingly, and briefly, shook it.  He looked the guy over. “I take it Fowler sent you to find me.” 

“He did tell me you would most likely be here,” the kid said as he sat at the next stool over, apparently joining Hank at the bar now. Hank sighed and gestured to Jimmy, holding up two fingers. “He also said,” the stranger added, watching him, “you’d most likely be very drunk.”

“Well, Fowler is usually correct, bless his heart,” Hank said as Jimmy returned with two glasses of whiskey. “So I take it you’re not the new stable boy come to introduce yourself.” 

The kid didn’t react, really, just shook his head twice and accepted the drink. “I met with Jeffrey. You have a big job coming up. You need someone to accompany you crossing the frontier. Someone with knowledge of the route.” He sipped from his glass, looking at Hank, direct and unafraid. “So he signed me on.”

“You’re my hired hand,” Hank said, confirming his sneaking suspicion. He imagined sitting next to this overfriendly, overeager asshole for the next ten months and felt the strong urge to smoke his pipe.

“Yeah, Fowler hired me, because I have knowledge of the route, to accompany you on - “ 

“I heard you the first fuckin time,” Hank said through clenched teeth. He held his glass to his lips. “You can’t be older than twenty five, twenty six. How many times you been from here to god damn Arizona?”

“Enough,” he said, “to have knowledge of the route.”

Hank took his entire drink in one gulp. The whiskey burned as it traveled to his belly. The kid’s eyes burned into him even worse. Sizing him up. So, he had an attitude. How fucking charming.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” the kid said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank groaned. “Please spare me and spare yourself. I’m easier to be around when I’m drunk.” He eyed him. “You’re probably easier to be around, too.”

“I just want to complete this job successfully.”

“Oh, we’ll complete it all right, you don’t have to fuckin worry about that. We’ll get our money, that much is a guarantee. Long as you survive the trip.”

“It’s not my survival I’m worried about,” he said with a little mischievous smirk on his face. Hank wasn't sure whether to laugh or to smack him. Instead he made eye contact with Jimmy again and waved him over. 

“Seriously Hank, you’ve been here since noon,” Jimmy said.

“This will be his last one,” the kid assured Jimmy before Hank could say anything, dropping a couple crisp bills on the bar. “I’ll have another too.”

Jimmy was placated, and as he poured them each another glass, Hank studied the kid out of the corner of his eye. Even if he was annoying - which he was - Hank could just ignore him. But it was the strangest thing - Hank felt like he had met this guy before.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked suddenly. “Never caught it.” 

Then something interesting happened. The tiniest, briefest clash of hesitation across his face. A lie. “Connor,” he said simply. “And you’re Hank Anderson.”

“Yeah, I said that already,” Hank grumbled. He stayed on edge, watching without making it obvious. He had been a law enforcement officer for years. He knew how to read people, and while lying about your name wasn’t necessarily the worst thing, it had a whole bunch of other implications Hank wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. Had Fowler noticed this too, and not cared?

Connor raised his glass gently to Hank in a hesitant toast, and they silently each took a sip. What type of fucking person would lie to get on a trip like this? It wasn’t exactly the most appealing job offer. Maybe he just had a bad past, bad history. Wanted to get away from his god damned life. Hank squeezed his glass. Sounded a little too fuckin familiar. Maybe Hank was just imagining shit.

“Where you from, Connor?” Hank asked, not nearly as gruff as before.

“Up north,” he said easily, no hesitation this time. “Outside Michigan.”

“Damn boy, you came practically from the northern frontier,” Hank said. “Cold enough to freeze your cock clean off but, other than that, not half bad.” Hank taken a half dozen trips up to the Canadian border, through blizzards and hail and ice, and sometimes, a little bit of sunlight that would melt the snow and let the grass peek through.

“Sure,” Connor agreed, “the winter is pretty brutal. The summer isn’t bad though. Nice and mild, not too hot. Nothing like down south.”

Hank had more whiskey. He had half a mind to beg Jimmy for another, but he was beginning to feel his mouth getting loose, his head already heavy with another day spent in the bar. Though his meeting with Fowler wasn’t until the next day, Hank was beginning to feel that unmistakable burst of anxiety that always came before a job. He wondered how many times Connor had gone through this. There was _no_ way Fowler would ever somebody green as hell to accompany him on a ten month, four-passenger job, because someone that inexperienced would leave him worse off than nobody at all. 

“So you’re a frequent traveler, then,” Hank said, returning to the conversation.

“You could say that,” Connor said. “Hard worker, may be more accurate.”

“Plenty of hard workin’ people never make it halfway to the Pacific. You gotta be one lucky son of a bitch to stay alive.”

“Guess that makes me one lucky son of a bitch, then.” Connor knocked back the rest of his drink. “And you must be the luckiest of all, still going out there in one piece.” It was a compliment, a good one.

“Just barely.” Hank finished his glass too, leaving it on the bar as he stood. “You smoke?” 

“No,” Connor said, standing also, “but I’ll join you on the porch.”

They sat out as Hank puffed on his pipe and Connor answered his onslaught of questions easily. He knew a lot, despite Hank’s initial judgment of him - how to care for the oxen and horses; how to fix up the wagon; how to hunt, trap, skin animals, cook, preserve; multiple routes cross country; good supply stops and places to avoid. Hank knew just about every one he mentioned, and agreed with his assessment of each. A good sign. He knew the way, knew how long it should take, and was dead set on getting there on schedule. Hank had his reservations, but despite his age and his chipper personality, the kid seemed... capable, even Hank had to admit that. He had gone from coast to coast, though he had never done it with a wagonful of criminals, which was quickly becoming Hank’s only real concern. Connor was honest about his lack of experience with a contract job like this, at least; humble, instead of insistent. Hank, begrudgingly, liked this about him.

“What did Fowler tell you about them?” Hank asked. “The Jericho gang.”

Connor shrugged, folding his hands in his lap contemplatively. “Not much yet. I’ve heard of them, though. Just robbers and thieves. They call their leader the man with two souls.”

“Huh,” Hank said, not sure what to think of that. He tabled his questions for when they met with Fowler. “What would you do if one of them got free?” Hank asked him.

“What do _you_ do?” Connor asked.

“Don’t pull that shit, kid,” Hank said around a mouthful of smoke.

Connor paused for only a moment. “I suppose I would have to shoot them.”

“Yeah, you fuckin' might have to, and if you pause like that when it happens, they're definitely getting away, and could take one of us with them." He paused, then, making sure Connor understood, earning a nod from him before Hank continued. "They need to be alive when we show up. We’ll be fined if they run off or die.” Hank was being harsher than he needed to be - he certainly wasn't itching to shoot anybody - but he wanted Connor to know what he was getting into.

“Sure,” Connor said. “I understand.”

“You ever shot a man, son?”

“Only when I needed to.” That wasn’t what he expected.

“What about a woman?”

Connor looked at him. “Why would you ask a question like that?”

“‘Cause one of our distinguished guests is of the female persuasion.”

“I’m confident we can control the caravan enough where that doesn’t become an issue, Marshal,” Connor said. 

“Don’t fuckin' call me that,” Hank said sharply. “I’m not a marshal anymore. Just call me fuckin' Hank.”

“Okay, fucking Hank,” Connor said, “any more questions?”

Under the deepening sunset that took over the entire sky, on a collapsing old porch, next to the stranger he’d be sitting with for close to a year, Hank pulled his pipe from his mouth, and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Me and God - The Avett Brothers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjZHpXjF7k8)


	2. i’ve got my sight set on you and i’m ready to wait

Gavin had the feeling they were completely and utterly fucked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tina whispered, “and for once, I agree with you.”

They were crouched on top of the little cabin, each of their shotguns trained onto the trail ahead as they listened to the sounds from beneath them. It was a bunch of no-names, dubbed the Little Apple gang, no doubt on their way to Basking Ridge to trade stolen coins or whatever the hell. Nobody worth shooting in the middle of their dinner just yet.

Fuck, Gavin was hungry. They hadn’t eaten in a day, furiously tracking the little gang from Murrayville to the territory, then cutting up the cliffside so they could beat them to the cabin. It had begun to snow, an unexpected late storm in a colder-than-usual Idaho spring. Gavin had expected everything to end quickly. But they had laid here on the roof for hours now, snow-dusted and freezing, waiting for the gang to finally show up. They finally had, just after sundown.

The problem was, their new leader was nowhere to be found.

Gavin held a finger to his lips. If they spoke too loudly, or moved too much on the roof, they would definitely be noticed. He was fairly confident the gang had no idea they were being tracked, which was fuckin’ good. But still, their leader, and Gavin’s target, was suddenly not with them, at least not yet.

This was not normal.

There were a couple of options here. Somewhere down the trail - where Gavin and Tina had split off from following the larger, slower group - somewhere between the start of the woods and the cabin, their leader had been buried in a shallow grave, dead to exposure or illness or injury. Maybe the gang had betrayed him and shot him in the back like the bunch of cowards they were. Maybe another bounty hunter had been tracking them, too, and had caught up before Gavin had.

But Gavin knew his target. He knew him probably better than he knew fucking Tina who he spent every single godforsaken day with. And none of those options were a possibility, not even in the fucking slightest.

So yeah, this was definitely not normal.

Gavin leaned slightly down, listening through the smoke hole in the roof. There was the crackling of fire, the smell of venison and bone broth, the stench of body odor and tobacco and bourbon floating up along with the food. There were four of them, in total, all petty criminals with petty warrants. Gavin had no idea why someone like fucking _Nine_ had thrown in with them.

The wanted poster flashed in his mind, that freshly drawn and freshly posted parchment in the Plainview sheriff’s office, the drawing - always so crude and simplified, a man’s most obvious traits emphasized - with those unforgettable words beneath:

NEW REWARD: $10,000 DEAD OR ALIVE

He remembered that moment he had seen it, and the sheriff’s grunt when he saw Gavin’s gaze, the way he said, “You want ten thousand dollars, you’re better off collecting Llewellyn's gang. There's a handful of 'em, camping up in Bexar County by the territory. Two grand a head.”

“You’re saying I’m better off catching a half a dozen men,” Gavin had said, “instead of one.”

The sheriff shook his head, handing over the paperwork for Gavin’s next job, some arsonist Gavin couldn’t bring himself to care about anymore. “That’s no ordinary man.”

Gavin was brought back to the present by the sound of laughter in the cabin below.

 _Fuck you, Nine,_ he thought as he adjusted his ass on the rooftop. God damn he wanted a cigarette.

They waited, and waited, until they had been sat atop the cabin for half a day and well towards midnight. Tina watched over his shoulder up the cliffside, where they had dropped in from, though it was unlikely Nine would come that way. Gavin’s eyes strained, hoping to catch the first glimpse of Nine coming down the trail through the snow, always riding that black horse, the same one he’d had since Gavin had caught up to him just across the border into Wyoming a year earlier.

The more time passed, the more his fingers tightened on his shotgun, the more his skin crawled with more than cold - the more Gavin knew shit wasn’t right. In fact, they were probably, as they had known for hours, fucked.

Their safest bet would have been to wait for the gang to leave the next morning and move on. They couldn’t easily get off the rooftop, not without alerting the armed men inside of their presence and inviting a firefight.

That would have been the safest bet, sure.

Gavin nudged Tina slightly and gave her a significant look. The moon was a tiny crescent in the sky, the same shape of her lips as she frowned.

She slowly, carefully, pointed down into the cabin, gesturing at each of the men who they had approximated were inside, and holding up her fingers to indicate the reward on each of their heads - all pitiful compared to Nine - a hundred, two hundred. Then Tina shrugged. _Who cares?_

Gavin didn’t care about the money, and he certainly didn’t care to waste the time collecting their bounties. But he wasn’t about to sit on top of fucking cabin for twelve hours for no reason. He imagined a few possibilities. Nine was purposely hanging back, waiting for a signal, or waiting to hear gunshots. Or Nine had realized they were tracking him and gone off in another direction, and they’d have to retrace their steps. But he was pretty sure of one thing. These idiots had some type of answer for where their leader was, and Gavin was going to get it. He gestured to Tina his reckless plan, who sighed but followed along, nodding her agreement.

They waited for the men to fall asleep, one by one, until the cabin was quiet, filled with only their snoring and the crackle of the fire. And then Gavin handed his gun to Tina and slowly, _slowly_ , pulled off his coat, a little bit at a time, until he could lay the heavy fur right across the smoke hole.

It only took a few minutes for the first man to wake up, coughing and gasping. Smoke was trickling out of the little cracks in the wooden building. They couldn’t see inside, but they could hear, and a ruckus began as the men started to panic. They locked eyes. Tina handed him back his gun.

Gavin used the opportunity to slide down off the roof, dropping off quietly around the side of the cabin with no window. Tina stayed up top, ready to pull off Gavin’s coat to clear the air, ready to shoot down into the cabin if necessary.

Gavin had holstered his shotgun on his back in exchange for his pistol, and he cocked and raised it as he moved around the side of the cabin, listening to the shouts and bangs from inside. One of them had thought to throw open the windows, and the smoke was flushing out, trickling into the night air.

The front door opened with a crack and three men in their long johns ran out one by one, coughing and sputtering and falling onto the ground, and in an instant Gavin was there, holding his gun over them.

“Lay the fuck down with your face in the dirt and your hands on your head,” he ordered.

“Who the fuck is that,” one of the men began to yell, stopping with a yelp as Gavin kicked him in the side.

“Did that smoke make you blind and deaf, assholes? Get down,” Gavin commanded, and they listened. Unarmed and in their underwear, they had little negotiating power with a bounty hunter.

Once Gavin was satisfied with their positions he turned back to face the cabin. There were three men on the ground, but they had counted four men enter the cabin earlier. Which meant someone was still inside.

“I’ve got your three buddies here in the dirt,” Gavin called out into the cabin. “You could either come out here and lay with them of your own free will, or I could come in there and drag you out face first myself.”

There was no answer from inside.

Gavin moved away from the open door, stepping to the right and moving closer to the wall. If whoever was in there was conscious, he had either gotten his wits about him and found a pistol, or -

The shot hissed past him, out of the smoke and into the night air, whizzing through the open door right where Gavin had been moments before and over the men who began shouting and shifting around. Gavin crouched down, watching the next shot explode out into the darkness.

Oh, god _fucking_ dammit.

He knew the footsteps, the movements, without even having to see the body, and then there he was, seemingly filling the doorway, suddenly, instantly, literally _right_ next to Gavin, so close all Gavin had to do was turn up his gun and shoot him, and he would have him, he would have him.

But Nine - fucking Nine, Lucky Number Fucking Nine - already knew he was there, almost lazily lifting his pistol to Gavin’s temple as he stepped out of the cabin, moving far too quickly for Gavin. As usual.

Gavin refused to close his eyes against the feel of the metal on his face. His chest both soared and sunk as he looked up and defiantly met the eyes of the man he had been hunting for close to four years now, closer than he had been in months, the closest he had been in over a year. He was far different than his wanted poster this time, far different than the last time Gavin had spotted him - his hair cut short, his face clean-shaven, dressed in a white mink coat instead of his usual beaver fur. Like a different man altogether. Gavin couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it.

“Reed,” Nine said in that icicle-sharp voice, and yeah, there he was, “what a pleasant surprise.”

The gun briefly tapped against Gavin's cheekbone as he tilted his head to look up. He understood the gesture and with a growl, dropped his gun onto the ground. Nine kicked it away, eyes never leaving Gavin’s.

"Nice fuckin' haircut," Gavin spat.

Nine’s lips curved up in the ghost of a smile. “Thank you.”

“What happened to your horse?” Gavin held his hands in front of him, wishing he could just fucking grab his shotgun and blow Nine straight into the snow. Not that he would, if another possibility existed. He wanted to take this fucker alive.

“Oh, he’s quite safe and sound,” Nine said. “Would you like to be able to say the same about your friend on the rooftop?”

Gavin glared at him but said nothing.

Nine didn’t break eye contact with Gavin as he raised his voice, calling out, “Miss Chen,” and Gavin wanted to squirm, then, that he knew her name, but of course he did, “if you shoot, harm, or otherwise threaten myself or my men I will shoot your companion here in the face, and then I will come up there and I will shoot you as well.”

And then, before Gavin could barely blink, Nine had reached behind Gavin’s back and grabbed his shotgun - his still-loaded shotgun, god dammit - and with his right hand still pointing the pistol at Gavin, he raised the shotgun in his left and fired it up through the open front door, up into the roof of the cabin, blasting into where Gavin had been laying earlier.

 _Fucking show off,_ Gavin thought as he heard Tina’s movement on the roof, and the shouts of the confused men laying on the ground a dozen paces away. There was a long stretch of silence, maybe ten seconds, before Tina’s guns came flying off of the cabin roof, down into the snowbank near the horses with two quiet thuds.

Satisfied, Nine tossed the shotgun away from them and pressed his pistol up close against Gavin’s temple again. He jutted his chin upwards. “Get up.”

“You gonna kill me now, huh?” Gavin suddenly couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He actually - felt afraid. For Tina, for himself. It was a stubborn fear, but it curled in the bottom of his stomach, making his heart leap like a rabbit. He had shot at Nine - been shot at, successfully even - followed him for hundreds of miles across god’s great country - but he had never been in this position before, at Nine’s mercy, and it was likely he would die.

“You gonna shoot me in the back or the head?” He swallowed hard, a smile creeping onto his face as he laughed, harsh and humorless. “You gonna make me beg for my life? What do you do exactly before you kill them, Nine, huh? Do you say something specific? A little prayer? A song? I always had a kind of morbid fuckin’ curiosity. Didn't get to find out the last time.”

“Clearly,” Nine said. He narrowed his eyes. “Do I have to instruct you again? Get up.”

Gavin began shuffling onto his knees, pushing upwards with his hands still held in front of him. “So what is it, then? You tell a joke? Hope it’s fucking funny. Hope it’s to fucking die for.”

Nine smirked, really truly smirked. Gavin’s target of three years, his ten thousand dollar reward, his fucking obsession, finally close enough to shoot - well, close enough to shoot Gavin, at least.

He had imagined this going a lot differently.

“Face the wall and don’t move,” Nine ordered.

Gavin stared at him, finally ripping his eyes away to turn against the cabin, placing his palms on the cold, rough wood, kneeling in the gathering snow. He pressed his fingertips against it and finally closed his eyes. He didn’t have any family left worth mentioning; no real friends to worry about, other than Tina. He hoped she had the sense to scramble back up the cliffside while Nine was distracted, get into the woods, get back through the territory. She had a brother, a mother, a couple friends they had met up with as they had traveled together. Shit to give a shit about. Gavin had…

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, wood digging into his flesh, his forehead pushed against the splintery wall, the wind whipping around him. One of the men on the ground was crying.

Gavin heard three gunshots, then a fourth. He waited for the fifth, sure to go straight into his skull, but there was only complete and utter silence, though Gavin could barely hear shit through his heart pounding in his ears.

By the time Tina dropped down from the roof and dragged him away from the wall, Nine was gone and the woods were quiet.

And as Gavin turned to face her, he saw his snow-covered pistol in her hand, pointed at his face.

“What the fuck happened, Reed?” she demanded. “Did you make a deal with him?”

“Calm the fuck down, Tina,” Gavin said, holding his hands in the air still, suddenly aware that he might not meet Saint Peter at the hands of his enemy, but at the hands of the closest thing he had to a friend. “I wouldn’t do that shit to you and you know it. Why the fuck would I make a deal with _Nine?_ ”

Tina hesitated, then lowered the gun. “Sorry, partner,” she said, turning the gun and handing it back to him. “Just making sure.”

“Now you tell me,” Gavin said, looking down the dark trail, “what the fuck happened.”

Tina threw him his smoke-filled coat and then rang her hands in front of her as he redressed. He saw that she was shaking. “I thought you were dead fucking meat, Gavin Reed. I heard four shots and I figured - but he just turned and cut a horse loose and - “ She shook her head and pointed down the trail, confirming what Gavin already knew. “He walked backwards the whole way. He took your shotgun. I was sure he’d shoot one of us if I moved.”

“You did fine,” Gavin grunted, still staring into the woods beyond, before tearing his eyes away to scan the area around the cabin. There were the three out of four petty criminals in Nine’s temporary gang, shot dead in the dirt by their recent leader - three of the horses still tied up at the posts, looking as nervous and skittish as Gavin felt.

“God above, he let us _live_ ,” Tina said, and she slumped against the wall, letting out a heavy breath. She gestured broadly over at the corpses on the ground in front of the cabin, three men Nine didn’t have to kill, but did anyway. She was visibly shaken; unused to so much violence. “Leave it to your guy to shoot his own men yet leave us behind. We’re in a special club now, Reed. Spared by the good graces of Bastard Number Nine. He should have shot you through your god damned eyes.” She pressed a single finger to the center of his forehead, and then pulled him into a relieved hug that Gavin weakly accepted.

He couldn’t help it. His eyes turned back down the trail, to where Nine had disappeared, onto who fucking knows what - his whole plan no doubt playing out _exactly_ like he had anticipated. As usual.

Though his head was spinning, Gavin was sure of something. He was glad he was alive, still in one piece, standing with Tina in front of this shitty little cabin in the territory. And - with a weird clenching in his chest - he knew he was sure of something else, something he wouldn’t dare fucking say aloud. He was glad _Nine_ was alive, too, down that dark trail, off to his next scheme, four years of cat and fucking mouse continuing on, instead of ending with Nine dead on the ground, just like one of those stupid petty common criminals.

He finally came to his senses and plunged his hands into his pockets, searching for his tobacco. It was time for that fucking cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [See You Again - Miley Cyrus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krNNMFpA1wY)


	3. what's done in the dark will be brought to the light

Hank woke up to Sumo barking and scratching at the door. He laid there in a whiskey daze for a few confused moments, staring up at the ceiling of the stable house. There was another rhythmic banging noise, and Hank realized someone had been knocking at his door for the last few minutes, slowly drawing him out of his dream. He couldn’t remember what it was about, now.

“Sumo, relax!” Hank grumbled as he sat up off his mattress. He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, not that he gave a shit. He stumbled up, pushing his huge slobbering dog behind him as he ripped the door open.

It was fucking Connor. “Good morning, Hank, did I wake you?”

“Why the fuck are you here so early?” Hank muttered, squinting into the sunlight.

“The sun rose hours ago,” Connor said, looking past Hank towards Sumo, who barked excitedly, trying to squeeze between Hank’s leg and the door. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah, clearly.” Hank could see Connor wasn’t afraid, so he stepped to the side and let Sumo bound forward, wiggling and grunting as Connor began to pet his head.

“Oh, is he coming with us?” Connor looked like he had just found some secret buried treasure.

“He comes on every job,” Hank said simply. He watched Connor crouch down, letting Sumo lick his cheek. The big dog was intimidating, but he was a sweet thing, more intelligent and loving than Hank had anticipated. Hank wouldn’t have survived the last half a decade without him. He was getting up there in years, but still kicking along - just like Hank himself. Though Sumo had considerably more energy these days.

“Why didn’t Fowler mention him?” Connor said, grabbing Sumo’s face in his hands and smushing up his cheeks. Sumo wagged his tail. “I love dogs.”

“Fantastic.” Hank leaned in the doorway as Connor and Sumo grinned at each other. “So why are you here again?”

“Our meeting with Fowler,” Connor said patiently, finally turning to look up at him.

Hank blinked. “Shit, is that right now?”

“In half an hour, actually,” Connor said as he rose, giving Sumo another pat on the head. “I figured you would need a bit of time to get ready.”

“Sure, kid,” Hank grunted. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was a little grateful Connor had shown up. Fowler was used to it, but he still hated when Hank was late to shit, especially important shit.

He turned back into the house, leaving the door open so Connor could follow him inside as Sumo went to do his business. Hank went through the motions of starting a pot of coffee as Connor made himself at home in one of the wooden chairs.

“How long have you lived here?” Connor asked as he settled his hands on his knees, looking  around the stable house. It was only one room, the bed and the kitchen and the fireplace all crammed together. The rest of the building was dedicated to the actual stables and the animals inside. It was a bare, pathetic space, and other than Hank's belongings strewn about, there was little indication anyone lived here. Hell, that was pretty much true anyway.

“I only rent the room out when I’m in town,” Hank said as he puttered about. “Been staying here on and off about five years now.”

“Fowler said he’s known you for a long time.” Connor stood up when Sumo came padding back into the room, and closed the door behind him, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had done it a thousand times.

Hank stared at the coffee pot as if that would make something happen faster, as if it would help him ignore Connor’s presence, something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to do. “Yeah, going on maybe, shit, thirty years now.” He glanced over his shoulder at Connor, who was lingering by the doorway. “I reckon he told you a bunch of other crap too.”

“Not much. He said you’re reliable, and that we’ll make it there safely.”

“That much is true,” Hank agreed.

“He also said I shouldn’t talk to you too much,” Connor said with a little smile as he sat back down.

“That’s true, too.”

“I’m not sure.” Sumo had come back over to Connor and put his head in his lap. “I haven’t minded so far.”

An awkward silence hung in the air between them, but when the coffee was ready, Hank poured Connor a cup.

 

~

 

The meeting was pretty standard, all things considered. Jeffrey showed them the wagon, the same one Hank had driven on his last trip, but all repaired and refinished, fitted with brand new wheels for their upcoming journey. Jeffrey had also replaced the canvas covering of the top of the wagon, and a small window with a cover flap had been cut into each side. The front of the wagon was the same as always - the little bench at its head, where Hank would sit to drive the oxen, and then the platform a step above it, a good place to get some shut eye if they weren’t camping overnight. It was familiar, just like the stable house.

“She’s lookin’ good, Jeffrey,” Hank said in appreciation as they examined the wagon, though he still had to ask, “Think she’ll get us all the way out west? I put this old thing through its paces last time.”

“I doubt you’ll run into any blizzards this time,” Jeffrey said darkly. “Only if you go way off schedule. A whole lot of mud and rain though, that’s for sure.”

“No fuckin’ surprise there.” Hank moved along the side of the wagon, and with a satisfied grunt he turned to Connor. “You ever driven a two-oxen team?”

“I already interviewed him, Anderson,” Jeffrey barked. “Let’s go over the route.”

They sat in the stuffy office and studied the maps; the roads and trails they planned to take; the places they could stop for supplies. Between Connor and Hank, they were familiar with the areas they would be passing through. Hank wasn’t worried. Other than crossing the Colorado River close to the end of their journey, there was nothing major for them to worry about.

The prisoners were about the same. Nothing major to worry about. There were four of them, three men and a woman, all around Connor’s age. The Jericho Gang. Hank remembered what Connor had said, that first night they had met at the bar.

“You know anything about this ‘man with the two souls’ bullshit?” Hank asked Jeffrey.

“Who knows,” Jeffrey grunted. “Nothing about it in the file the sheriff mailed here.”

He handed over the paperwork to Hank and continued on. He didn't acknowledge the curious look Hank shot to Connor, if he noticed it. “They’re fairly notorious out in the western territories. A string of stagecoach robberies up the main roads, a couple of prison break-ins, nothing bloodthirsty. After they’d ransack shit they’d leave anyone around tied up, but still breathing.”

“They’ve got two murders here, though,” Hank said as he glanced over the neatly written report on the prisoners.

“The girl’s killed two prison guards in Tucson, hence the feds’ involvement. The others, nothing they’ll cop to.”

“I reckon they’ll be tried as a group for that one,” Hank said as he handed the parchment over to Connor, who began studying it closely. “How’d they get picked up?”

Jeffrey looked annoyed. “If you had actually read the fucking paperwork, you would know already.”

“I’d rather hear your interpretation of events, Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey shifted in his seat, crossing his arms in front of him as he leaned back. His eyes flickered over to Connor before he spoke. “The ranger who found them was pretty fuckin’ familiar with one of them, the leader. He had them all strip and walk to the next town. He beat on them pretty hard. Depending on how you look at it, it’s either lucky or unlucky he didn’t shoot ‘em right away.”

“Asshole,” Hank muttered. He hated guys like that.

Jeffrey shrugged. “Well, he probably had the stupid thought they’d be tried and hanged right away. But there was a federal warrant for the prison guard murders so, back across the country.” He chuckled. “That bastard is probably _so_ bent outta shape about that one.”

“Yeah, good.” Hank was scowling. He glanced at Connor, who was peering at him curiously over the top of the paperwork. “What?”

“How did the ranger know them?” Connor asked, turning back to Jeffrey and handing him the report. “That information isn’t in here.”

“And I’m sure that was on purpose,” Jeffrey said with a tone of finality.

Connor nodded. “I see.”

“They've been in Newport for three months now.” Jeffrey sat the paperwork down in front of him. “They’ve been moved around ever since they got brought in last year. The federal warrant is a pain. They were looking for a while for someone to take this transport contract.”

“Glad to be of service,” Hank said, relaxing a bit as Sumo leaned against his leg. “You got any other questions, kid?”

Connor shook his head. “No, Hank.”

“Good.” This, hopefully, meant he felt comfortable. First timers always asked hundreds of questions. Despite Connor's lack of experience, he seemed familiar enough with the process, or at least clever enough to easily understand it. He sat at ease in his chair, watching Hank pet Sumo.

“I want to see you both here at sunrise on the fifteenth,” Jeffrey said in that stern voice. “You’ll need to leave then to get to Newport by dark. The sheriff’ll put you up for the night.”

Hank led the way out of the office, taking a deep breath as they emerged into the open air of the town. It was late afternoon now, the sun beginning to darken as it approached the horizon.

Hank began walking back to the stable house, not even realizing until he got to the door that it wasn’t only Sumo who was following him, but Connor too, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You need something?” Hank demanded. “Spit it out, kid.”

“That bothered you,” Connor said. “When Fowler talked about the prisoners. Why?”

“And it didn’t bother you?” Hank said gruffly. “I don’t exactly have the stomach for violence and humiliation.”

“But you were a marshal.” Connor seemed confused, like he was trying to piece something together. “Didn’t you - “

“I never fucking did what that ranger did,” Hank snapped. “Men who resort to that are nothing but fucking cowards.” He bit his tongue, feeling hot rage bubbling up in his throat. Connor didn’t flinch or look away or back down, he just stood there patiently as Hank gathered his thoughts. “I’ll tell you right now, if you’re the type of man who will lay a hand on them for fun - “

“I’m not,” Connor said shortly. “I don’t punish others for my own amusement. I’m here to do a job, just like you are.”

“Well, good.” Hank ran a hand through his hair and sighed, nearly all the hostility taken out of him. “Look kid, I’m not sure if Fowler told you, but I got a reputation to hold up here, as well as what’s left of my god damned morals. I should’ve made this clear a lot fucking earlier. I won’t touch our cargo unless either of our lives are on the line. You’re my hired hand, and you’re taking my orders. So I just expect you to abide by the same code.”

Connor studied him for a moment, and then he nodded. “I understand, Hank.” He gave Sumo another pat on the head and then straightened his jacket. “I’m here to help you get them there in one piece.”

“Poor bastards,” Hank grumbled, satisfied with Connor’s answer. “At least the federal warrant set the clock back for them. Another half a year of life. Better than hanging in Newport.”

“I’d rather die.”

“What?” Hank stared at him.

Connor’s matter-of-fact expression had barely changed. “I’d rather die than live like that.”

“Well, that’s not something you’ve gotta fuckin’ worry about, Connor,” Hank said. He got a wave of goosebumps across his skin at Connor’s casually morbid statement and did his best to shake it off, attributing it to Connor’s straightforward lack of subtlety.

Hank put his hand on the doorknob but hesitated before opening it. “Where you staying, kid? Until we leave?”

“I rented the room above Jimmy’s,” Connor replied. He nodded at Hank, gave Sumo one last scratch behind the ears, and then turned away. “See you on the fifteenth.”

Hank watched him leave, and then he went inside to drink away the rest of the night.

 

~

 

The days passed slow and warm as May reached its midpoint and their journey loomed ahead. Hank was sleeping fitfully, dreaming of dirt and grass and horses and guns, drinking even more than usual to help him sleep. He had done this so many times, but he still got nervous right before they left, just a general anxiety made even worse by the prospect of spending the next year with Connor. He wasn’t that bad, Hank begrudgingly admitted to himself, but he was strange, and Hank wasn’t sure what to think about him. Hank still would have rather made the trip alone, all things considered.

Hank knew he should get to sleep early the day before their departure, but he just couldn’t. His shit had been packed for weeks, the stable house cleared of his presence, and he was tired of sitting around with his thumb up his ass. He went to Jimmy’s, vaguely wondering if he’d see Connor there, not that he necessarily wanted to, or didn’t want to, for that matter. But the young man was nowhere in sight. Hank didn’t care. They’d be stuck together soon enough no matter what.

Hank got drunk. He got really, really, really drunk. The bartender, a woman who only worked a couple of afternoons a week, left him pretty much alone, just delivering glass after glass of whiskey, until Hank attempted to stand and realized he had been drinking for hours and he was completely and utterly shitfaced. He sat back down.

“Hank, what the hell are you doing?” Jimmy said, suddenly appearing. Shit, what time was it?

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Hank struggled to get control over his mouth. He couldn’t get the words out right, all slurred and loose.

Jimmy looked at the bartender who had been on shift all day. “What the hell’s wrong with you? This man is about to pass out in our establishment. How long as he been here?”

“He seemed fine,” the bartender protested.

“I am fine,” Hank said. The wall of bottles behind the bar blurred and spun as Hank tried to get his bearings. He didn’t want to stand up again. He felt for a second like laying his head down on the bar. Fuck, he usually drank to pass out, but he tried to avoid doing that in public.

“No, you’re not, Hank.” Jimmy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like Fowler for a second. “Pay your tab and go the fuck home to sleep this off. If you don’t show up tomorrow, either Fowler or that little partner of yours will have your balls.”

“Fuck both of them,” Hank muttered as he slapped his money on the bar and stumbled to his feet. “See you in a year, Jimmy.”

 

~

 

Hank remembered stumbling to the stable house. Sort of. He knew he had gotten there, at least, because he was there now. It seemed a bit different. Hank stepped out of the door and looked around town. He knew this place so well. It was like he had never left - Shamrock, Texas, the place he had married Cheryl, the place he had lived for twenty years, the place that had given and taken away -

Hank walked down the main street. Jimmy’s bar was here, across from where it usually was, or was this where it usually was? The question passed through his mind unanswered and unattended. It didn’t really matter either way, he supposed. The bar was here all the same. He pushed the doors open and things seemed brighter, the windows thrown open, the dust and dirt gone. The wooden floors shone with oil; the chandelier was actually sparkling. And seated at the bar was Connor, in a white shirt with that one dark curl hanging in his face, smiling at Hank, sitting next to someone Hank hadn’t seen in a long time, not even in his dreams.

“Cole,” Hank chided, “you’re too young to be in here, kiddo.”

His son turned around on his barstool and beamed at him.

“Dad,” he said, “do you know Connor?”

Hank crossed the room and joined them at the bar, the little boy in the middle of the two men. He couldn’t really focus on what they were talking about, but Hank felt good. He felt happy. He looked down at his son, and then Cole put his hand on Hank’s shoulder and began shaking him.

“Hey,” he said urgently. “Hank, wake up.”

“No,” Hank said.

“Come on, Hank,” Connor said to him, his face suddenly flushed, “you need to get up.”

As Connor spoke, Hank had the feeling he was tilting back on his stool, and then he jerked awake, suddenly in the dark, moonlight spilling across the floor of the stable house. And that was where he lay, face down on the dirty wooden floor, with fucking Connor crouched next to him, his hand on his shoulder.

“God dammit,” Hank groaned, his mouth impossibly dry, his head heavy as a boulder, “what’s going on?”

Connor looked incredibly concerned, a deep frown on his mouth, his eyes furrowed together. His face was red. His hand hadn’t left Hank’s shoulder. “I think you passed out on the floor.”

“No, I just sleep here for my fucking health,” Hank snapped as he rolled over onto his side and then propped himself up, cursing under his breath the entire way. His heart was pounding.

“Hank,” Connor said firmly, “you’re drunk.”

Hank didn’t even dignify that with a response. He looked towards the open door, the town outside, unmistakably Covington; yet Hank felt if he could walk down to Jimmy’s he could go inside and Cole would still be there.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” Hank suddenly asked, realizing that he was still laying on the stable house floor with Connor hovering over him. Sumo lay nearby, completely asleep. Some dog.

“When I came back to the bar Jimmy said you had been there all day.” Connor frowned even further, somehow. “He said he wasn’t sure you made it home. I came to check on you, and your door was left unlocked.”

“I always make it home,” Hank grumbled.

He began to climb to his feet, and Connor was instantly at his side, helping him up though Hank tried to shrug him off.

“I don’t need your help, I didn’t break my fucking hip,” Hank protested, but Connor’s hand was a vice on his arm, and he managed to get the still-stumbling Hank over to his mattress. The older man flopped down onto it with a deep sigh. He still had his boots on. He could be pretty god damned pathetic, when he wanted to. Not that he gave a shit.

“Hank, we’re supposed to be leaving first thing in the morning,” Connor said as he stood over the bed, looking down at him. Hank could barely make out the expression on his face through the dark and the drink. “I’ll be back before sunrise.”

He waited for Connor to say something else, something judgmental or passive aggressive, but he didn’t. He simply closed the door behind him when he left.

 

~

 

True to his word, Connor was back when the sky was still dark, waking up Hank with a bucket of cold water to the face that Hank reckoned he actually pretty much deserved.

As the sun began peeking out, Sumo led the way across the dirt to the stables. Connor was bright-eyed and eager, and Hank didn't feel nearly as awful as usual, with nearly a full pot of coffee in him. He was still a little drunk, but that was fairly typical. His dream had been washed from his mind, his encounter with Connor unmentioned, and he felt a certain relief at leaving those moments behind in the stable house.

Only when the sun was almost completely hovering over the horizon did Jeffrey finally show up.

“Look who decided to join us,” Hank called out into the early-morning air as they finished loading the last of their things onto the wagon. Their personal belongings were meager; both he and Connor’s packs of clothes took a small amount of space, leaving plenty of room for the guns, food rations, wood, blankets, pots and pans, firestarters, and numerous bottles of whiskey. And they would pick up more supplies, in addition to the prisoners, in Newport.

Jeffrey frowned, giving Sumo a good pat as he came closer. “Excuse me, Anderson, but I’m pretty sure you’ve never been this punctual before, so you should choose your words carefully.”

Hank could see there was no vitriol behind his words; he was legitimately pleased. Hank felt an honest-to-god real smile creep onto his face. “Hey Fowler, don’t get too upset, you’ll only be rid of me for almost a whole year.”

“Who knew I lived such a blessed life. Wire me whenever you get to Tucson,” Jeffrey said as he handed Hank and Connor their pay. Hank pocketed his, paying it nearly no mind.

Jeffrey stepped back, studying them, then gave Hank a significant look, his eyebrows raised. “Not sure if that wagon will be able to make it back without some repairs. I trust you to handle it. It might take a while, so, if you need to make a little detour, no harm done there.”

“I’m not making any detours,” Hank said, thinking suddenly of Jeffrey’s suggestion to go all the way out to the coast; of Hank’s own journal from his last trip, _Next time - Shamrock_ , scribbled out like that would somehow erase the thought itself.

“No,” Connor agreed. He faced Jeffrey like a confident, seasoned traveler. “We’ll be there right on schedule, if not earlier. Safe and sound.”

There Jeffrey was again, giving Hank that meaningful stare, and Hank had to turn away.

They hitched up the oxen, saddled up the horse, and with Sumo asleep in the back of the wagon, under the creeping red sunrise, they got onto the dirt road that would lead them west.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [God's Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Krtm_gUAadI)


	4. take a chance and roll the bones

“So Reed,” Tina said as they stepped out onto the street, “what’s next?”

Gavin winced in the sun, shielding his eyes to survey the town, some little crap place that wasn’t even on Tina’s map. They had buried the men in the snow, unable to do much more, unwilling to go through the trouble of collecting their bounties for a multitude of reasons. After sleeping a few fitful hours in that smoky destroyed cabin, they retraced their steps back down the trail, back to the little bit of civilization just over the territory line, arriving in the town just after sunrise. The horses Nine had left behind weren’t much good for a group of dead men, so Gavin and Tina had brought them along. They kept two, one for each of them, and sold the third for a hundred and fifty dollars.

And now here they were, on the corner of a street in a shithole town, recently spared by a madman’s mercy. What a way to start the fucking day.

“Let’s get drunk,” he said, pointing at the bar down the street, and off they went.

 

~

 

They were each down two pints of strong wheaty beer, Gavin’s tobacco on the table between them as he rolled a couple cigarettes, when a man down the bar sidled over, an empty glass in his hand.

“I’ll buy a round,” the man offered, “if I could get a couple of those.”

“Sure, old timer,” Gavin offered, handing the man a freshly-rolled cigarette, and starting a new one.

True to his word, the man gestured the bartender over, ordering three more pints of beer.

“Sir,” Gavin said as their drinks were poured, “I’m Gavin Reed, and my charming friend here is Miss Tina Chen.” She tilted her beer towards him politely. The bartender delivered their glasses, spilling over onto the already filthy bar, and Gavin quickly took his, dying to knock it back over and over and over. “And to whom do we owe this pleasure?”

“Ben Collins,” the man grunted. He was older, larger, with thick grey hair hidden beneath an equally thick fur hat. As he sat, his jacket had opened around his waist and revealed a silver revolver. He puffed on the rollie contemplatively. “Out of towners, eh?”

“Here on business,” Gavin supplied. He shifted his hip on the seat, pushing back his coat just enough to show his own gun, and the length of rope he always kept on his belt. “You live in this lovely little town?”

Collins shook his head almost in disgust. “No, I don’t live here. I’m tracking a gang up the territory. Figure they’re heading into Wyoming.” He shifted in his seat. “And you?”

“Here on business,” Gavin repeated, but Collins didn’t look away.

“Same business I’m here on, then, I reckon,” he said.

“Hopefully not exactly the same,” Tina piped up, “or we’d be in competition.”

Collins was immediately interested. In this profession, any news was good news, and sharing information was a necessity - though talking with others could occasionally go awry. If someone else found your man, well, you best make sure you stay at the front of that line. Some bounty hunters would honor each other’s claims to their targets; others saw the profession more as a competition.

Gavin wondered which kind of hunter Collins was.

“You tracking a gang?” the older man asked, sounding sincere enough.

“No,” Gavin said. “Just one man.”

“Hope you’re not tracking the Little Apples,” Tina piped up, “because they’re dead about six miles into the territory south of here.”

“I ain’t, thank you,” Collins said with a tip of his hat. “I heard they were traveling with a real rat bastard. The RK brother. I’m too old to mess around with that. I’m looking for the Ortiz gang. There’s a handful of ‘em, men and women. Any news? Last I got was they’re heading up into the mountains.”

Gavin and Tina exchanged a look. “I think we heard the same when we were around this area about three days ago,” Gavin said slowly, plowing ahead. “So you’ve heard about our guy? We call him Lucky Nine down south.”

“I’m sure you call him a lot of things,” Collins said with a pinched look on his face, turning over Gavin’s words. “I know he was with the Little Apples, like you said, but if they’re dead, I have no other news.” He paused, shaking his head before saying incredulously, “You’re tracking _him_?”

“Sure am, four years now I’ve been on him. Tina’s been with me since the beginning of the year.”

“I’m no bounty hunter,” she interjected, leaning over the bar with a wry smile. “Just a tracker dumb enough to get sucked along for the ride.”

“Four years?” Collins guffawed. “No offense, miss, but that is pretty dumb. Not that the fucker is any old petty thief, but four years is an awfully long time to be following one bounty, don’t you think?”

“No,” Gavin said defensively, “Like you said, the fucker is no petty thief.”

“Trust me,” Collins said, puffing on his cigarette, “I get that. I’ve spent the better part of twenty years out on this frontier. I’ve seen my share of men like the RK, though none exactly like him, admittedly.”

“And where do you see them go?” Gavin asked.

“Well, they all get their comeuppance, eventually. Death, imprisonment. One way or another.” He shifted in his seat, fixing Gavin with a meaningful look. “They said the RK brothers would never be caught. But look what happened to the younger one.”

Gavin had heard the story back down in Texas. Nine had a younger brother, just as lawless and coldhearted as he was. Between the two of them they had taken countless lives, nobody knew the exact number. It was probably well over a hundred, or more. But Gavin didn’t have to worry about the brother. He was dead.

“Well, all things being equal here, he wasn’t exactly caught,” Gavin said. “I’m pretty sure anyone on his trail was pretty fucking pissed to see their reward disappear into the Colorado River.”

“I’m sure they were,” Collins agreed. “I suppose you imagine a more satisfying result for his brother, then.”

“Sure as shit I do.” Gavin exhaled the words in a puff of smoke. “I’m bringing him in alive, and he will hang in Plainview for his crimes.”

“Plainview?” Collins made a face. “Why Plainview in particular? I know a dozen sheriffs from here to the territory who’d all say they have an equal claim to the warrant.”

“Plainview was where he killed nine members of the Kamski family.” Gavin’s voice was hard and unyielding. “You must know that.”

Collins dragged on his cigarette, looking at him, now understanding. “Yes, now I do recall it was a brutal slaying. He laid them out in front of the house, all of them. One of them was the sheriff.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Really intense shit. I’ve heard that was his first crime.”

“Yes, so they say,” Gavin said dismissively as he leaned forward. “No man goes from nothing to nine dead in one afternoon, but all the same, the Kamski family line is nearly dead and buried, save for the middle brother. And I have met with him and I can assure you, he will see Nine hanged in Plainview as the law intends.”

“Well, while I pray for your success, I can tell you this, son,” Collins said, “and I mean no offense.  But if any man is going to capture him, it will not be a lawful man, and I can almost guarantee he will not finish the trip without a fight.” He sat back, spreading his hands in front of him in a shrug. “No matter. The bounty is dead or alive.”

“It matters,” Gavin said. He brought his palm down on the bar. “Bartender, please. Let’s get some fucking whiskey over here.”

 

~

 

They tipped their hats to Collins outside the bar in the early afternoon, each wishing the other good luck and fortune, and then Gavin and Tina spoke to the other people in the town, trying to pick up a clue as to where Nine had gone. They were sure it was a dead end, until they finally spoke to one of the old hunters, drunk out by the stables. He claimed to have seen a man riding through the night before, in a white coat.

“What color was his horse?” Gavin asked him.

 

~

 

They had deduced that since Nine still didn’t have his beloved black steed, he must have hitched it up hidden somewhere on the trail on the way to the territory. Gavin didn’t believe for a second that Nine would have traded in that black beauty for one of the Little Apple horses, who were poorly groomed and even more poorly tempered, as Gavin and Tina were finding out firsthand.

The unfamiliar horses were pushed to their limits on the deserted trail. As they tried to retrace their steps - and Nine’s - Gavin and Tina trying and often failing to keep the animals focused on the soft, rocky ground. There were definite signs of the gang’s crossing here, but it was difficult to decide when or if Nine had been this way since then. Gavin always had this theories, but sometimes he could only guess the path that Nine would choose. He knew that Nine preferred trails like this, silent and out of the way; he always headed southwest around this time of year; he would avoid Colorado with everything in his power. Gavin figured he’d be heading down into Utah, maybe to hook up with Lou Burns again, a step up from the fleabags Nine had just been riding with.

Gavin knew Lou well. It was Gavin who had tracked Nine and the notorious bank robber all the way across Oregon two years ago, culminating in a shootout that ended with Nine gifting Gavin a bullet between the ribs. He had lived, though. He always lived somehow.

Gavin let himself get lost in thought as they moved south. He wasn’t a bad tracker, but Tina was the professional, and he trusted her enough nowadays to let her take the lead, her dark eyes scanning and searching.

He was rolling a cigarette, his mind playing through his previous encounters with Nine, when Tina hissed, “Gavin, stop.”

“What - ?” He swallowed the word as Tina held up a hand, gesturing for his silence. Her steely eyes were narrowed, focused off into the woods. She dismounted her horse.

Gavin let her work. She moved off the side of the trail, light and careful, and began touching and sniffing, eventually turning up to Gavin with a foxlike smirk on her face, and Gavin knew.

She whisked back over to Gavin, coming close enough for him to lean down and whisper with her.

“The ground is disturbed over here,” she murmured. “The leaves are kicked around like someone tried to cover their tracks, make it look natural. Not natural enough for me.” She pointed at the nearby oak tree. “Right there, it smells like horse piss.”

“Fantastic.” Gavin followed her finger as she turned to towards the other side of the path, into the woods to the east. He narrowed his eyes, searching, seeing what she was seeing - disturbed twigs and branches, a slight path cut through the soft floor of the forest, still muddy from the spring snowstorm. Two sets of horse tracks, with no clear attempt to cover them. Someone had gone through there, maybe a little too quickly, not taking the time to hide the evidence like they had by the tree. If they had ridden too quickly past here, they would have missed it.

“And this,” she said with a final triumphant air, extending her fist to hand Gavin something. It was a familiar sight, a little twisted off end of a hand-rolled cigarette. Gavin crushed the paper in his fingers and watched the tobacco fall away like snow. He lifted the mess to his fingers and smelled.

“Four Roses,” he said, meeting her eyes. “It’s him.”

Their eyes turned in unison to the other side of the woods. Someone had gone down there, cutting through the trees off the path for some reason. The wind and the horses’ panting and the birds crying and the cracking branches all blended into one deep thrum between Gavin’s ears. He remembered how he had felt back at the cabin. He had no children, no family, no property. He only had his search for Nine.

He drew his gun.

 

~

 

It was over so quickly Gavin barely had time to think. They followed the disturbed path of foliage into the tree line, down a sloping hill, breaking out suddenly into a small clearing by a creek, two horses raising their heads as the strangers approached. And laying there against a log was Nine, his body in an odd position with one leg stretched awkwardly in front of him.

It happened in a burst of energy. Nine’s name tore from Gavin’s throat as he aimed his pistol, but while Nine was faster his aim was off, and he sprayed a scattering of bullets that led to a flash of blood on the dirt, to Tina and her horse both screaming as the horse bolted off into the woods, leaving Gavin there alone - and he was leaping from the saddle, throwing himself on top of the man laying in the leaves, fumbling with the gun in Nine’s hand before somehow, fuck yes, flinging it away into the dirt. Nine’s black horse was braying and shrieking, stomping around them as they rolled in the mid, before Gavin got enough purchase to crack his pistol on top of Nine’s head, stopping him just long enough for Gavin to crawl on top of him.

His boot was over Nine’s wrist - his knee pressed into his other shoulder - Nine grimaced in pain but fought no more as Gavin put his gun between his eyes.

“Don’t fucking move,” Gavin realized he was screaming, spitting, _struggling_ to hold this man down, and for a moment he forgot who he was and what he was doing and just pressed him into the dirt with all his strength. He took his pistol and put it in Nine’s mouth, and for the second time in the same amount of days, he met his enemy’s dazed eyes. In the sun they were as silvery as the gun between his teeth.

“Reed,” Nine said around the gun, finally still, his split lip staining red against the metal.

“Don’t _fucking_ move,” Gavin said again, practically hysterical. He pulled the gun from his captive’s mouth and placed it back between his eyes.

Nine simply stared at him, blood coming through his hair where Gavin had hit him. He was bruised and battered. Gavin was sure he wasn’t much better off, but he didn’t care about that. He had him, he had him, he had him -

Gavin forced Nine onto his back and tied his feet and legs, then stuffed his bandana in his mouth, maybe a little too far, maybe not far enough. He felt like he could focus only on one breath at a time, one action at a time, like the only sound in the world was his heartbeat.

He dragged Nine to the closest tree and tied him to it, using all the rope he had - if anyone could get out of his bindings and crawl away at a time like this, it would be Nine - and then Gavin took his hat and placed it over Nine’s face, over his icy eyes and high proud cheekbones. He laid his blanket over Nine’s body, mostly hiding his bindings, at least from a distance. Just another sleeping traveler. It would be some cruel joke of God, for some random passerby to find Nine bound and helpless, and take him in, all the work already completed. But no one would come this way. He was alone, with Nine.

He stepped back and took in the scene, and then, he spit at Nine’s feet, feeling almost like he wanted to cry with relief.

“Fuck you,” he said.

Gavin got on his horse and went looking for Tina.

 

~

 

He found her not far from the trail. Her horse was long gone, leaving drops of blood on the leaves where he had run off. Tina herself was slumped against a fallen log. Blood bloomed around the open wound in her leg. She had been shot.

“Get a little bruised, Chen?” Gavin breathed as he dropped down next to her. She was hit, bad enough to need a doctor, hopefully no worse.

She clutched at her knee. Sweat was beading on her forehead. Gavin knew she had never been shot before. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Tell me that Lucky Number Fucker is bound and gagged. Just tell me.”

“Nah, let’s just throw in with him,” Gavin said, his voice shaking with adrenaline. He slipped off his jacket and then made quick work of his shirt sleeve, ripping it off and tying it around Tina’s wound to staunch the bleeding the best he could for now. “I mean, he’s pretty much my reason for living anyway.”

“Oh, I hate you, Reed,” she groaned as he scooped her up and brought her to his horse. “All this trouble  - augh, _fuck_ \- and you fall for another tall dark piece of ass. I should’ve known.”

“What can I say.” Gavin settled Tina, panting and cursing, into the saddle. “There’s just something about the guy.”

“I can’t believe you,” Tina grunted as she slumped forward against the horse’s neck. “Actually, nevermind. I can.”

Gavin took the reins and began to hurry them back through the brush. He was almost sure he was dreaming, that he’d wake up back in that shot-out burnt-up cabin, or slumped over drunk in his tent, still searching, still one step behind, too afraid to give in to the fluttering joy in his belly.

But no, they returned to the clearing and Nine was lying in the same place, under Gavin’s blanket, tied to the tree. The horses - one sleek and black, the other dusty gold - had mostly relaxed, though the black one snapped at Gavin as he passed. But they were here, Nine was still here. Gavin felt a rush of relief so intense it almost brought him to his knees.

He moved next to Nine and pulled the hat off his face. It was strange, he thought, that he kept thinking something was going to go wrong, because he had half a mind that Nine had up and died just out of sheer force of will. But when Gavin removed the hat, Nine’s eyes were open, almost calm.

“I have you,” Gavin said to him, just in case he didn’t know. Just to hear it out loud.

“Motherfucking Gavin Reed,” Tina’s weak but proud voice came from behind him, “what the hell are you going to do now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roll the Bones - Shakey Graves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sD72LbIk02M)


	5. give me your eyes, i need sunshine

As they crossed the border from Tennessee into Arkansas, the bare trails turned into real dirt roads, wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, all the way up until they got to Newport. All the winter snow had melted and dried in the May warmth, leaving bright fields of blooming flowers and green grass between towns. The days had been clear and mild, and this one was no different, with stacks of big white clouds rolling across the sun, all puffy and bright. No sign of rain, no sign of trouble. A good omen.

Hank drove the oxen, and Connor rode their horse, Daisy, ahead, stretching her legs. Hank had a suspicion Connor was feeling the same familiar anxiety Hank knew too well. It would pass.

They broke around noon next to a river just outside a little town Hank couldn’t remember the name of. Sumo had sat next to Hank on the bench all morning, and once they stopped, he bounded off to investigate the terrain with Daisy. Hank left the oxen hitched up to graze nearby, and he and Connor sat at the back of the wagon for lunch. Connor was uncharacteristically quiet, which Hank didn’t really mind all things considered. The silence was adequately filled by the buzz of flies, the sound of hard bread cracking, Sumo’s yips and barks as he played in the river.

“Do you think it’ll be difficult?” Connor finally asked. “Transporting them?”

“Depends.” Hank shrugged, his mouth full of cheese. “If they’re a rowdy bunch, yeah, it’s a challenge. I don’t usually have a problem.”

Connor blinked, a thoughtful expression on his face, and Hank could then tell what he was thinking.

“You mean, is it difficult knowing where we’re taking them,” Hank supplied. He remembered. “You’ve never done this before.”

“No,” Connor admitted. “And yes, you’re right.” He paused, seemingly not in reluctance to speak, but more like he was choosing his words very carefully. “I really just need to get out west. I have no great passion for this line of work, not like you do.”

Hank guffawed, turning over Connor’s words. “Don’t let me fool you, kid. It’s not bad work. You sort of gotta forget about what you’re doing. It’s just not exactly my life’s mission.”

“What is, then?” Connor asked, voice caught somewhere between curious and conversational. Sumo had padded up and was begging for food, probably successfully, judging by the look on Connor’s face.

“Don’t give him any cheese,” Hank warned, hoping that was enough to change the subject. He didn’t really know the answer. He didn’t have much passion for anything these days. He enjoyed traveling the frontier, disappearing into it; but sometimes, in his darkest moments, he felt like a servant of death, even worse than he had been as a marshal. But he wasn’t exactly itching to share the particulars of his life with Connor. “Anyway, I’ve been a lot of things in my life, and this is probably one of the better paths I’ve been on.”

“Literally, I hope,” Connor said with a smile as he gave Sumo the rest of his bread.

Hank grunted noncommittally, but he found himself looking at Connor out of the corner of his eye. Something he had said was still sticking in Hank’s ear. “You said you just need to get out west. You got business to attend to? Or you don’t plan on making the return trip?” It wasn't like Hank cared; he could easily make the trip back alone, but Connor didn't seem like the type to renege on a contract.

Connor didn’t look at him, just scratched behind Sumo’s ears as he hummed, his voice casual. “I’m not sure. Are you?”

“I always make it home,” Hank said after a moment, surprised at his answer. “One way or another.” He stood, wiping his hands on his shirt, wiping away the feeling that Connor was trying to read his thoughts, wiping away the burning questions he had for this man who was still a stranger to him. “Come on, let’s hit the road. We got a long way to go.”

 

~

 

The rest of the day passed slowly and quietly, and eventually, just as the sun began to sink and redden in the sky, they crossed into Newport. It was a sprawling town, neither rich nor poor, but with a huge prison just outside its limits. Hank had come through here many times over the years to pick up passengers, and he guided the wagon down the main strip until they reached the sheriff’s office.

It was standard procedure, regardless of the pickup town. Talk to the sheriff - the same suave, mustache-twirling idiot that had been in the position the last time Hank had been here - and sign the papers; receive the next portion of their advance; hole up for the night and meet the prisoners at dawn. Usually the sheriff offered free board upstairs for the night - but this time he claimed the rooms were taken, offering instead that they rent down the street at the inn his brother owned, twenty dollars each, and five dollars for the dog.

Though Hank wanted to tell that cheap bastard to fuck off, he gritted his teeth and said they would rather set up camp outside town. He had left Connor with the wagon, and as Hank trudged back outside, he could see the younger man petting one of the oxen, Daisy tied to the wagon and nibbling on the sheriff’s flowers. Connor could clearly see it happening, but didn’t seem to care, and neither did Hank, now.

“We’re starting our little camping trip a little early, kid,” Hank called out as he took off down the main strip. Their wagon and animals would be safe with the sheriff for now, regardless of his moneygrubbing.

“We’re not staying here?” Connor asked, jogging to catch up with Hank.

“Nope, sheriff’s a fuckin’ dick,” Hank grunted. Better to keep it simple. Connor seemed to accept his explanation. “No matter. Let’s get some shit while we’re in town.”

“I made a list of supplies I believe are a necessity,” Connor said as they walked together. “And another for things that would be nice to find, but not required.”

“Great,” Hank said, maybe a little too sarcastically. “We won’t be stopping again until we’re up north about three hundred miles northwest of here, so let’s do our best to find both.” He looked at Connor out of the corner of his eye. “I trust a barrel of whiskey is on the first list. Those bottles won’t last me long.”

“Yes, a small one,” Connor agreed, adding, “it will be much cheaper at the next outpost.”

Hank grunted, satisfied. “Good man.”

Eh, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

 

~

 

Connor woke Hank up just before dawn, shoving a cup of strong thick coffee in his face, and Hank felt like he had been struck by lightning.

“Jesus Christ, Connor, what is that?” he grimaced as he reluctantly took the tin cup, stumbling out of the wagon where he had slept at his partner’s insistence. Connor had stayed on the front bench, claiming it had been too long since he slept under the stars.

It appeared as if he had gotten the best sleep of his life. He was even more cheerful than Hank had known him to be previously. First day jitters gone, Hank supposed. Hank felt like death, just like he did every morning, fighting through the haze of booze and back aches, usually saved only by coffee. But Connor’s coffee wasn’t going to save him. He was pretty sure it was going to kill him.

“This is horrible,” he declared.

“That’s quite dramatic, Hank,” Connor said defensively. He stood close to the wagon, already shaved and dressed, Sumo sitting loyally next to him. Traitor. “It’s not that bad.”

“Did you even try it?” Hank frowned as he tried to take another sip.

“Yes,” he said with indignation.

“Connor,” Hank said, pinching the bridge of his nose and suddenly feeling like Fowler, “how the fuck you’ve gotten through _your_ life like this, I haven’t the slightest clue, but this is not something I can fuckin’ deal with.”

He attempted to show Connor the best way to brew the pot, the right ratio of grounds to water, and while Connor was admittedly eager to learn his tips and tricks, Hank wasn’t sure if he’d be trusting him with coffee duty anytime soon. Well, at least there was something he didn’t know how to do.

They ate a quick meal and then set off for the prison, Hank taking Daisy this time and letting Connor drive the wagon. It wasn’t the most difficult task, but trekking through a town was quite different than a wide open trail, and controlling the movements of the slow, heavy oxen could be a challenge. Connor did fine, tuned into their intentions and emotions, just like he did when he rode Daisy. He was good with the animals, Hank had to give him that. Sumo certainly approved, and sat next to Connor on the bench just like he had with Hank, his head in the kid’s lap as they went down the road to the jail.

“Well, good morning,” the sheriff called as they approached. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here on time.”

“We have a schedule to follow,” Hank said shortly, swinging his leg over Daisy to step onto the ground.

“Where are the prisoners?” Connor asked with a judgmental air as he joined Hank and the sheriff. “We’re ready to leave. I presumed they’d be ready too.”

“The guard has to bring them out.” The sheriff eyed him oddly, like he was wondering who the fuck this little boy talking back to him was.

Hank hid his laugh behind a strangled cough. “Let’s get a move on then. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

The four prisoners were brought out, each of them heavily bound with ropes and knots. Their hands were tied in front of them, as well as their feet, though there was a bit of give between their ankles to allow them to walk. A long rope connected each prisoner to the next. One of them couldn’t run off alone, and Hank didn’t intend to leave them alone long enough to let them take off as a group.

He studied them. He remembered the report and began playing putting the pieces together, remembering their names - two men, Simon and Josh, both looking calm as could be; a woman, North, considerably more agitated; and then there was the leader, Markus. Hank came close enough to see that he had one green and one blue eye, both fixed firmly on Hank. The man with two souls. His gaze made Hank feel strange, like he was being entirely picked apart. They all looked so different from each other, like they had been selected by chance to leave the prison, like they should be strangers - but he knew that wasn't the case.

“Alright folks, listen up,” Hank said as he stepped forward, addressing the group, all in tattered clothes, their faces dirty and downturned from the months of imprisonment. “The name’s Hank Anderson, this here is my partner Connor. We’ve got a good half a year together like one big happy family before we get out to Tucson. I intend on getting us all there alive. Anyone got a different plan?”

Nobody said anything. They just regarded Hank serenely, only North fidgeting with nervous energy. Hank would have to watch out for her, but the others seemed calm enough.

“Good,” Hank said. “Couple of ground rules. You'll stay tied up day and night. No sense in tryin to bribe me, you will not succeed. If you can’t behave yourself, you’ll all stay in the wagon. If you’re a shit to my dog, you won’t eat for as long as I deem necessary.” Sumo barked, as if to back him up. “If any of you get the bright idea to run off or attack me, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” It was the pretty typical address, but he added something new this time, pointing at Connor. “And if you fuck with him, I’ll shoot you twice.”

He paused, surveying them with his hands on his hips. “Let’s get this fucking show on the road, then.”

The guards helped them get the gang into the wagon, looping their ropes into a series of wooden handles that would keep them from escaping. As everyone else stepped back, Hank stood looking into the wagon, the prisoners looking back, their eyes reflecting the sunrise.

Hank drew the curtain closed and turned to the sheriff. Just like Fowler, he would get paid a sum for having a hand in the gang’s transport. “They’ll arrive in Tucson right on time. Hopefully I won’t be coming through here again for a long while.”

The sheriff tipped his hat dramatically, in overly formal condescension. “Marshal,” he drawled with a sneer, and walked back to the prison, ignoring Connor altogether.

“What an unpleasant man,” Connor said after he left.

“He’s one of the better ones you might meet,” Hank grunted, brushing it off with the satisfaction that he and Connor had successfully pissed the guy off. “Come on kid, I want to get the fuck out of here.”

“Well said, Hank,” Connor agreed, though his eyes lingered on the prison, a thoughtful expression on his face. Hank sat back on the wagon, Connor taking Daisy again, and they set off down the dirt road, the road that would eventually turn to a wide trail surrounded by endless plains and sky. Hank’s nerves had been replaced by steely determination. They would complete this job, and Hank would return to Covington. With or without his hired hand.

The sun was a red eye of fire above them as they left town.

 

~

 

The first couple of weeks went smooth as butter. The weather held, with only one night of rain that had passed by the time the sun rose, and so Hank had little to worry about. Especially, he was finding, with Connor around.

The prisoners were easy enough. They showed no indication of running off, and Hank had only waited a couple of days before taking them out of the wagon, letting them walk in a meandering line ahead of the oxen. Connor would ride Daisy nearly every day, sometimes taking off to scout the trail ahead, sometimes just riding next to the rest of the group, observing.

This early in the trip, while the roads were easy and well-worn, Hank liked to cover ground, so they would break intermittently to cook, eat, rest the animals, rest themselves, but otherwise they would soldier on, sometimes through most of the night. Sometimes Hank found himself dozing off at the front of the wagon, even in the middle of the day. Sometimes instead he found himself watching the prisoners too. Every once in a while they talked and laughed amongst themselves, but Hank knew they held the majority of their conversations in hushed whispers in the wagon at night. He didn’t blame them. They all knew that Hank was leading them to an unfortunate fate - death by hanging, or decay working on the railroad, depending on how severely they were sentenced.

Either way, Hank wouldn’t be sticking around to see the outcome. He wasn’t sure which walk was worse: the one they had taken to get to Newport, naked and shamed, or the one they were taking now.

Now, as they moved through the prairie grass, Hank watched the people in front of him, somehow still able to laugh, and wondered, wondered, wondered.

It wasn’t just the prisoners he wondered about. It was Connor, too.

Connor was - Hank didn’t fucking know what Connor was. Connor was up before sunrise every day, that’s what he was. He was always moving, always checking something, always investigating. He was good at building a quick fire on the side of the trail; good at making soup; good with the prisoners; good with Sumo. He was still complete shit at making coffee, though, so Hank took care of that. And when the sun finally set and their wagon continued trudging along, Connor was the one who took the horse, letting Hank stay in his seat at the front of the caravan, and Hank would see his head nod up and down as he slept in the saddle. He worked hard, true to his word. Hank still had his questions. But he figured maybe, it wasn’t his place to pry. He certainly didn’t want to open up the door for Connor to ask about Hank’s own history.

This beginning stretch of the trail, where the oxen were full of energy, was usually the easiest. Still, Hank had to admit, he had never done so little on a job before. And by the time they finally gave in and made camp maybe a fortnight into their ride, he was feeling a little too complacent. Feeling like maybe, against all evidence, Connor looked at him and just saw a useless old man, someone incapable of making the journey alone.

He practically forced Connor to just stand still and brush Daisy, while Hank let the oxen free to graze and began setting up the campfire. He had the prisoners sit against the wagon, their hands tied in front of them, watching him solemnly as he lumbered about. Occasionally Hank would catch one of them watching Sumo as he barked and ran around the oxen, delighted to play with his friends.

The routine of things came back to Hank quickly. He had done this hundreds of times, maybe thousands, really. He had done it in the pitch dark, in the blazing sun, in the rain, in the snow. He had done it while he was so drunk he couldn’t stand straight, and while he was so sick he thought he might die, out alone in the middle of the frontier. No matter how long it had been, Hank could still remember how to do it. It was like riding a horse, like swimming, like fucking. Not that Hank had done much of _that_ recently, but he assumed he still remembered. He frowned as he poked at the logs on the campfire.

“Need help gathering wood?” Connor asked, appearing out of nowhere, and Hank jumped.

“Goddammit kid, don’t sneak up on me,” he barked. “And no.”

“Sorry, Hank.” Connor looked towards the prisoners, who still sat silently against the wagon. “Should I give them anything? We haven’t eaten all day.”

“We’ll eat first,” Hank grunted as he turned back towards the fire, still prodding it into submission. “Then they’ll eat. Then you’re taking first watch. I’ll take second. When you take third before sunrise, I’m going hunting.”

Without a word, Connor crouched down and began bustling about the fire, shifting the logs just barely so there was more space at the bottom, letting the fire open up and really catch. Sumo came padding back over, letting out a quiet _ruff_ that attracted both Hank and Connor’s attention.

“Are you hungry, boy?” Hank started to rise, but it was Connor who moved faster, as usual.

“I’ll get him a bone from the wagon,” he called over his shoulder.

Hank rolled his eyes and looked at Sumo, who was practically beaming, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “I think Connor might be tryin’ to snatch you up,” he informed Sumo. “You better stay alert.”

Sumo barked again.

Satisfied with the campfire, Hank set up the pot, throwing in whole potatoes and onions and carrots, water from the river nearby, and a couple of bullion cubes. Before Connor took first watch, Hank would throw in one of the salted pork butts he had bought back in Newport. Their stew would cook all night, and by the time Hank returned - hopefully with a deer, though probably with a couple rabbits - it’d be ready to eat, ready to store.

Their plans from there kind of depended on the hunt. If Hank had to butcher and preserve a deer, they’d need to camp for at least another night. If not, they could take off at mid-day. The more land they crossed in this nice weather, the better. But it would be good to get some more food, if they could. Six mouths were a lot to feed.

Hank was deep in thought, and didn’t realize his eyes had drifted from the campfire over to Connor, who was rolling around on the ground with Sumo, wrestling for his bone. The two had really taken a shine to each other. Another good sign, Hank supposed. His eyes drifted further, to the prisoners. They were watching Connor, too.

A wave of unease washed over Hank, and with a sigh he stood up to prepare their dinner.

 

~

 

Once Hank and Connor had each eaten their share of beans and bread, they sat near the campfire, watching the prisoners eat their meal in silence, the flames flickering on their faces. Hank kept their feet tied up and looped the ropes around the wagon wheels. They ate awkwardly, the cans held between their knees, bound hands carefully holding their spoons. Sumo lounged nearby, still chewing on his bone, and Hank puffed on his pipe, making great circles that fluttered away into the breeze. Connor, meanwhile, was writing in his journal. His handwriting was far better than Hank's, and Hank was more than happy to give up the tedious nature of recordkeeping. They had passed one of the bottles of whiskey back and forth, though Connor only took a handful of sips.

“You’ve made this trip before, haven’t you?” Connor was still scratching on his paper when he spoke. When Hank didn’t answer right away, Connor turned towards him slightly, an inquisitive look on his face. “Hank?”

“Give me a fuckin’ second to think, kid,” Hank muttered lightly through the tobacco. He shifted on his blanket and began to speak, more musing aloud than anything else. “I’ve never done this exact route. I usually go up through Missouri if I’m going west. Way more animals to look at. More trees, flowers, shit like that. Arkansas is a little too crowded for me. Don’t like the chance of running into somebody I pissed off years ago.”

He puffed along, deep in thought. “Don’t particularly like going into the territory. Don’t like getting close to Texas, either.” He cleared his throat, eyes shifting to the prisoners, who were still eating quietly, no doubt listening to their conversation. “Haven’t crossed over to New Mexico this particular way, I believe. Most of Kansas I could do with my eyes closed and one hand on my dick. I’ve been crossing there since it was just open frontier. That’s where I got Sumo, out near Belle Meade. Nowadays I try to take that route, just for a little nostalgia, I suppose. Traveled all over, for the war. Hard to avoid those places though.”

Sometime while he was speaking, the scratch of charcoal on paper had stopped. Connor was sitting there, listening.

“I know Belle Meade,” he offered after it was clear Hank was done talking, and out of all the things he could have responded to, Hank was glad he picked that one. “I’ve been through there a couple times coming from out west. It’s nice there. I like it.” He smiled. “I really like Sumo.”

“He’s a good boy,” Hank said gruffly. He was surprised at his sudden desire to ask Connor more about his trips across the frontier. Instead, he looked at Sumo. The Saint Bernard’s ears had perked up slightly at the sound of his name, and he scooted forward, coming to lay in front of Hank and Connor.

“I always wanted a dog,” Connor continued. He closed his journal and set it to the side, focusing fully on their conversation. “I’m not sure why I never got one.”

“You didn’t even have one as a kid? Never hunted with one?” Hank had owned dozens of dogs in his life, hunting dogs, tracking dogs, a racing dog, at one point. Sumo was a nanny dog, but hell, he had adjusted to life pretty well on the road.

Connor shook his head, pressing his pencil against his bottom lip. “Not even as a kid. I didn’t have a lot of things as a kid, though. We traveled young. Michigan’s the closest place I’d be able to call to a home, I suppose. Though I’m not sure I’d be able to go back there now.” His words had grown somber, but he shook it off, smiling suddenly and rolling his pencil between his fingers now, looking at Hank a little sheepishly like he had shared too much. “Instead I ended up in good old Tennessee. Very lucky, I would say.”

“Sure,” Hank said lightly, as he began to rise, ready to start their nightly duties, “Lucky to get stuck on this shit job. I wasn’t sure Fowler would be able to hire anyone.”

“Interesting,” Connor said agreeably, “I disagree, I think it is very lucky. Not every trip I’ve made has included such a good traveling companion.”

Hank was glad he had stood. It was easier to hide his smile that way as he turned off. He was still getting used to Connor’s offhanded compliments. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get everyone to bed so you can take watch and I can get some goddamned shut-eye in a proper bed.”

“If this blanket is what you call a proper bed,” Connor said pointedly, “you must really hate that thing you were sleeping on in the stable house.”

“You don’t even know,” Hank grunted, thinking about the scratchy little cot jammed in his rented room. He turned towards the prisoners. “Alright gentlemen and lady, time for bed. Anybody need to do their business before we hunker down?”

“I’ve gotta take a shit,” North said.

“That’s great,” Hank said. “I’ll get my shotgun and we’ll all go together.”

 

~

 

Hank’s morning hunt was successful, and when he returned back dragging a doe, Sumo came bounding out to meet him, yipping and leaping. Hank hardly ever saw the dog as excited as when they were out on the trails.

“Calm down, big boy,” Hank said through clenched teeth as he pulled the deer into the area he could reasonably call camp. “You’ll get a nice big leg here, don’t you worry.”

Connor was awake - of course, the sun was rising - and he was sitting by the fire, shaving. He had done it every single morning for the nearly two weeks they had been on the road, though Hank never even saw the faintest stubble on his face. He supposed it was part of Connor’s overachieving personality. He always looked the same - his little water cup at his feet, his shirt off, the cream spread from cheek to neck. He had already done half his face, moving his black-handled razor over his skin in practiced strokes.

Hank dropped the doe by the fire and grunted in greeting towards Connor. “Sumo, stay away,” he ordered, and the dog slunk off sadly to check on Daisy as Hank deposited his things and washed his hands in the little basin by the fire.

“I guess that means we’ll be staying here another night,” Connor said, clearly impressed. Little tracks of shaving cream and water had dribbled down his chest. He nodded towards the campfire. “Don’t worry, I didn’t make coffee, but I put everything out for you.”

“Of course you did,” Hank muttered, a smile tugging on his face, again, feeling the glow of success beam out of him. “You think of everything, don’t you? Fucking bastard making me look bad.”

Connor shrugged one shoulder noncommittally, but he was smiling too. Again.

It was still early, the sun streaking pink and gold over the open sky. Hank made coffee and got to work on the deer as the horizon began to warm. Once Connor finished shaving, he fell in next to Hank, bowing his head over the creature as he sunk down.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You talkin’ to me or the deer?” Hank said bemusedly.

“Both.” Connor smiled, bright as the sunrise.

Their hands moved in synchronicity as they butchered the deer. Hank threw one of the legs, as promised, out to Sumo, who descended on it like he had shot it himself, full of proud joy. The silence that fell over the camp with just the two of them, without the prisoners awake yet, without a need for words, just Hank and Connor working together, with Sumo eating happily nearby - it made Hank feel something he hadn’t felt in a long while. It made him feel comfortable.

The spell broke as the sun rose and the work finished. Hank woke up the prisoners. Their routine continued.

 

~

 

That night Hank had a dream. He was in Texas, standing outside a house. His house. His family’s house. It was burning. A line of people laid face down in front in the dirt, and Hank couldn’t move as he looked over them, realizing who they were - the prisoners, each one of them, and Connor, and Cheryl, and -

“Cole,” he gasped aloud.

He looked down. In his hands was a crumpled piece of parchment that he unfolded. Most of the paper was a crude drawing of Connor, and underneath, in huge letters, it read,

WANTED DEAD

When he looked up Connor’s body was the only one in front of the house.

He awoke with a start on the blanket by the campfire coals. The sky was filled with thick grey clouds, not yet pale with the sunrise. The atmosphere was wet with the promise of rain. Connor sat on his stool as he shaved. And Hank lay there, and wondered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every person, no matter how big or tough they are, should always have a partner. You never wanna go out on the streets alone. It's a mistake. It's just that you'll get lonely, you'll get upset, you'll get beat up. Because you never can tell if someone's gonna come up from the front of you and start to get your attention, and this other dude's gonna walk up behind you and bust your fucking head. Partners are always better."
> 
>  
> 
> [I'll Believe in Anything - Wolf Parade (Her Space Holiday Cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdFVOgakbh4)


	6. when trouble comes to town, and men like me come around

“She will be fine.”

Gavin exhaled, slumping down in the chair across from the doctor, letting out a shaky laugh. “Of course she will.”

“She won’t be able to put weight on it for about a month,” the doctor continued. He steepled his fingers in front of him, regarding Gavin over the rim of his little wire glasses. “I was able to remove the shrapnel. She is bandaged and recovering.”

“Thanks, doc,” Gavin said with a deep sigh of relief. Luckily Tina was in the next room over laying down or she’d be teasing him relentlessly for worrying so much. The truth was that in their half-day’s ride to Murrayville, the nearest big town, Gavin had seen Tina’s pain grow worse despite her brave face, and his blood had been running cold for hours and hours now.

It had not been an easy trip. Between Tina swaying with pain on her still-finicky mare, to Nine bound and draped over his horse, to the long rope around the black stallion’s neck that Gavin gripped with all his might, despite having tied it to his saddle. He just _knew_ that Nine would make some gesture or noise that would make his horse do some crazy shit and take off. He just _knew_ that Nine was planning something.

But nothing happened, nothing except that they reached the town limits at sunset and Gavin had practically broken down the doctor’s door. They must have made a strange sight - Gavin with one arm slung around Tina, slumped over and bleeding, with a rope in his other hand - leading to a tight loop around Nine’s neck, his arms bound with coils and coils of rope, a bandana tied tight around his face.

“I need a fucking doctor,” Gavin had snarled.

“It appears I can be of assistance,” the old man said, reaching out for Tina even as he gave Gavin a critical look. “You and your friend may sit inside.”

Nine slumped in his chair as Gavin rolled cigarette after cigarette, watching the sky darken to black outside. He could hear their horses nickering through the open window. He didn’t speak even though he was bursting to lay into Nine, to mock him, to jump back on top of him and smash his face in. But his thoughts were with Tina in the next room instead. This had always been a possibility, that one of them would get hurt, but he never wanted it to be Tina. He wanted it to be him in that bed, with Tina sitting by his side, laughing at him for being such a dumbass.

“She is lucid,” the doctor continued, bringing Gavin back to earth. “You may see her now.” He eyed Nine, then, his eyes trailing down to his leg, twisted uncomfortably in front of him. “Do you or your charge need medical attention as well?”

“No,” Gavin said shortly. “He’s fine.”

“Unless you intend to carry him wherever you’re going, allow me to take a look,” the doctor said, his voice full of practiced, gentle insistence. “You may tie him to the chair if you please. I will not release him. I respect your profession.”

“Fine,” Gavin finally said. Selfishly, vindictively, Gavin had wanted to force Nine to walk on his injury, to get him back somehow for what he had done to Tina, to make him suffer, to humiliate him. Instead, he stood, pulling the rope from his belt and binding Nine’s torso to the wooden chair as the doctor sat in silence watching them. Gavin wouldn’t meet Nine’s eyes, despite the way they turned up and stared at him, two pits of ice above his bandana.

“Lucky bastard,” Gavin said lamely, unable to muster more of a retort, and then he left the doctor to his work, feeling Nine’s eyes on his back as he went to see Tina.

She looked small in the bed, a white sheet pulled up over her body. Her hair had come loose from her usually tight bun and hung around her face. She looked a little sweaty, a little pale, but smirked weakly as he entered the room.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” she said slyly.

“I was going to say the same to you,” Gavin said as he pulled up a chair next to her. “You alright?”

“I got fucked up pretty bad, I guess,” she said. “If I never walk again, I’m gonna track you and Nine down, and I’ll hang both of you for getting me tied up in this bullshit.” There was no malice in her words, though, and Gavin managed to grin at her tenacity.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “You’ll be just fine.”

Tina waved her hand through the air dismissively. "About time it happened, I suppose. Getting shot by that bastard makes for a good story."

"Yeah, we got that in common, now, don't we?" Gavin pressed his hand against his side, then reached out to pat her shoulder. "You'll be back on the road sooner than I was, that's for fuckin' sure."

“Well, I am gonna need a couple of things while I'm stuck here,” she said, shifting slightly against the pillow as she began dictating to him. “A bottle of whiskey, for one. I need you to sell one of Nine’s horses, you only need two and I need the cash more than the ride right now, clearly. And then I need you to wire my ma to tell her what’s going on and ask for some more money. Doc said I’ll need to stay off my leg for a month, but I can pay for a room here until I can make it back to Oregon.”

“Sure boss,” Gavin teased.

“Look, you’re about to take off.” Her voice was plain and honest. “You’ve got about maybe four months ride down to Plainview. I know you’re gonna spend the whole time worrying whether I’m gonna die in fucking Idaho of all places, so, you’re really doing yourself a favor here by getting things squared away.”

“Yeah, the last thing I need is for your spirit is to start haunting my ass,” Gavin said lightly. “I’ve got enough to fuckin’ worry about.”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help but turn in his chair and look out of the open door, into the doctor’s main room. The old man was kneeling on the floor, bandaging Nine’s bare foot. Nine’s eyes were closed. When he turned back towards the bed, Tina’s face was curious.

“Did you think you’d ever catch him?” she asked, a little wondrously. “I mean, seriously.”

“Did you?” he countered.

“Of course I did,” she said in retort. “You’re the most singleminded person I’ve ever fucking met. You just don’t plan ahead, so. I never really knew what was gonna happen _after_.” She raised her eyebrows, throwing his words back at him. “Did you?”

“Nobody ever fucking knows,” Gavin said. “Sometimes they fight me, sometimes they try to run away, sometimes they beg. I always get them there, though. That’s all I need to know.”

“Guess you finally pulled it off,” Tina mused. “There’s gonna be a lot of unhappy people out there on the trail.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said smarmily. “Everyone wants a piece of this fucking prick, and I’m the one that’s got him.”

Tina’s voice turned hard. She was pissed off. “You better be careful, Reed. He might look different now, but all it takes is one loudmouth and you’re done for. A lot of men might kill you for a ten thousand dollar reward. And in Red Rock they’re offering twelve thousand - “

“I’m not going to Red Rock,” Gavin said stubbornly.

“I’m not saying you are, idiot, I’m talking about the dozen other reckless bastards who wanna get their hands on him,” she said. “You’re gonna get god damn swarmed. Just - don’t go around fucking flaunting him.”

“Who, me?” Gavin said with an innocent shrug. “As if I’d ever do some stupid shit like that.”

“I’m serious Gav. You know he’s gonna try to kill you,” she said, rolling her eyes. He knew. “You need to watch it. I’m not gonna be there to protect your ass.”

“Your doubt wounds me, Tina,” Gavin said, putting his hand over his heart. “I think I can handle him. Though it sure would be a lot easier with you along for the ride.” He remembered, suddenly, when he was recruited her for the job, the way her eyes had flashed in the dimly lit saloon down in Utah, her voice as she said, _fuck it._ He was going to miss her.

“I told you I’d split the reward,” he said firmly. “I still plan on honoring that.” He held up a hand to silence her. “Shut the fuck up. You helped me track him. We wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, lucky me,” she said in a dry voice, but she was smiling finally. “Fine, wire it up to my mother when it’s all said and done. Or, maybe I’ll show up in Plainview to collect it myself. I can’t see myself going back to Oregon and settling down after all this. That’s assuming you get there in one piece,” she added with a smirk.

“I’ll write on my way down,” he told her. He took her hand, warm and calloused, and was filled with fondness for his friend. He squeezed her palm and she squeezed back.

“Reed...” she started to say, before hesitating suddenly, so unlike her. He expected some great revelation, but she just reiterated her previous words. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“No guarantees, Chen,” Gavin said as he stood. “No guarantees.”

 

~

 

Gavin began making arrangements with the same focused determination he had always devoted to this job. He paid the doctor, both for the surgery and Tina’s room, and then, standing there in the darkened room, Nine still tied to the chair behind him, Gavin realized it was probably nearly midnight.

“You got another bed here?” Gavin asked, pulling his wad of money back out.

The old man nodded at the doorway behind him. “You can stay in the next room. There are two beds.”

“Oh, he’ll be staying right there,” Gavin said, counting out the bills and adding almost impulsively, “what happened to him?”

“A bad sprain,” the doctor said once he accepted the payment. He turned and made his way towards the stairs at the back of the house. “He’ll recover shortly if he stays off of it. His shoulder was dislocated, though that will heal easily. I cleaned his head wound, as well.” He nodded at Gavin, eyes flickering only once to Nine. “My wife and I are upstairs. I’ll show you to the post office tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Gavin said. The doctor was the kindest man he had met in a long while, it had put him off kilter. Gavin didn’t usually attract kind company.

“So you have captured him,” the doctor was lingering at the bottom of the stairs. “He has come through this way in the past, but never in the company of another.”

“Well, don’t I feel special,” Gavin said, though he was surprised at the doctor’s statement. “You’ve patched him up before?”

“A patient is a patient,” the doctor said, bowing his head slightly. “They are all the same to me. I must do my job. I imagine you feel the same way.” And with that the doctor turned and disappeared upstairs, leaving Gavin with more questions than answers.

Gavin glanced down at Nine. “Alright, motherfucker,” he muttered. “Let’s get some shut eye.”

He dragged the chair into the next room, struggling and grunting the whole way. Nine was considerably larger than he was - taller, with broader shoulders, and long legs and arms that Gavin was sure would break free from his bindings. He could easily overtake Gavin. He hadn’t yet, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Gavin could barely drag him across the floor. How he had managed to even fucking capture this guy, Gavin was beginning to wonder. He would have to summon that same rush of rage when Nine inevitably attacked him.

The room was smaller than Tina’s despite the two beds, and Gavin pushed Nine into the corner, his face hot, every nerve on fire at the realization, again, that he had finally caught him. Tina was right, Gavin had never really allowed himself to think about this actually happening. It felt strange, to have finally done it, and in such an odd way, an almost anticlimactic way. Gavin’s gun or his knife or his fists hadn’t done it - Nine’s sprained ankle on the side of the trail, that had done it. How easily things could have gone differently. He’d still be traveling with Tina, with Nine one step ahead of them like always.

“How does it feel, huh?” Gavin asked, unable to stop himself. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty fucking accomplished right now.”

Nine didn’t respond at first, just stared straight ahead until he turned his head over his shoulder, his mouth moving against the bandana as he spoke. “I expected more from you, Reed.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gavin spat out. His words touched a nerve, but Gavin pushed the feeling away, the words spilling out of him like venom. “Remember I could take you in dead or alive. I’ve got a reputation, but that doesn’t mean I won’t beat the shit out of you if I wake up on the wrong side of the bed tomorrow.”

“I simply can’t handle the anticipation,” Nine said in that muffled voice.

Gavin had half a mind to tear the bandana off his face and stuff it back down his throat, but instead he untied it, fingers brushing against Nine’s hair, still such a strange feeling. Gavin retied the fabric around Nine’s brow, covering his eyes. Knowing Nine, he would spend the entire night looking around the room and eventually free himself with a thermometer.

“Thank you,” Nine said, licking his lips as his vision was obscured. “Looking at you was starting to make me long for the gallows.”

“Oh, eat shit, asshole,” Gavin muttered gruffly. “Go to sleep, you’ve got a long walk tomorrow.”

Gavin sat uneasily on the bed for what felt like hours, staring at the back of Nine’s head, until suddenly, sharply, he woke up, the sunrise just beginning to drip into the window. Nine’s breathing was rhythmic and quiet in the corner. Still there, still conquered. Gavin, oddly comforted, closed his eyes and gave back in to sleep.

 

~

 

By mid-day, after selling the horse and sending the telegram, after a long hug and a final drink with Tina, Gavin had left his friend behind in Murrayville. Gavin was grateful for the doctor’s assistance, but ignored the man’s wishes and loaded up Nine’s black mare with his pack and gear instead of his body, giving into that vengeful part of himself. He wrapped the rope around Nine’s neck and had him lead the way out of town, the doctor watching with dark eyes from the porch.

Gavin once again felt like he could barely blink, for fear of Nine disappearing before his eyes. He was constantly aware of the pistol on his hip. He didn’t want to kill Nine, not unless his own life was in mortal, definite danger. But he could incapacitate him with a shot to the leg if he really had to.

It didn’t seem like that would be necessary anytime soon. Nine was silent and compliant. Gavin watched him limping and took great delight in setting a steady pace so the man had no choice but to push himself ahead. He found it slightly annoying that Nine wasn’t reacting, wasn’t complaining, but it was still satisfying to see him at the wrong end of Gavin’s rope.

At dusk they finally stopped to make camp just off the trail. They had covered a decent amount of ground, and soon they’d be out of Idaho and into Utah, and then Colorado, a brief dip into New Mexico, and finally, Texas. Plainview wasn’t too far inside its border. The destination seemed closer than it really was. Gavin was feeling good, all of his insecurities from the day before washed away by Nine’s surrender to him.

Gavin tied Nine to a tree again, the man’s long legs stretched out ahead as he sat in the dirt, still quiet. Gavin started a fire, set up his blanket, set out his coffee pot and whiskey. He sat down, beef jerky in one hand, cigarette in the other, and spent the evening staring into the campfire, occasionally glancing over at Nine.

Gavin had removed his bandana earlier and now the man was watching him. Other than a slight wrinkle between Nine’s eyes, Gavin would have had no inkling of his discomfort. His good leg was drawn up to his chest, his hands relaxed against the earth despite the ropes that bound him to the oak tree. His dark hair, so unfamiliarly short, hung down over his forehead in a mess of waves that seemed remarkably not-Nine. In the firelight, Gavin could still make out his eyes. He would know those eyes anywhere.

“Hey prick,” Gavin called out some time later. “I’ve got some questions for you.”

Nine shifted slightly against the tree, regarding him with a disaffected air.

“You hear me, asshole?” Gavin said. They locked eyes, the flames flickering and making eerie shadows of their campsite.

“I didn’t know you required a response,” Nine drawled evenly. “I reasoned you would do what you do best and just keep talking.”

“Kiss my ass,” Gavin said.

“Don’t tempt me, Reed.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gavin spat out impatiently. “I want to know what happened at the cabin.”

“I fail to see how that information is relevant now.”

“I don’t care, I asked.” He began rolling a cigarette. “There were five of you traveling together. We counted four men entering the cabin, not including you, so we thought.”

“Incorrectly.”

“Shut up,” Gavin barked. “What happened to the other man? You kill him?”

“Yes,” Nine said at once.

Gavin was a little taken aback at his lack of hesitation. There was no remorse in his voice. Yes, I killed him, because I had to. Like it was the only choice. Maybe, for someone like Nine, it seemed that way.

“Okay,” Gavin said, clearing his throat. He licked the cigarette closed, twirling it between his fingers as he regarded the murderer before him. “Why?”

“I knew you were following us,” Nine said. His voice was calm and clear in the night air. “You’re not as discreet as you think, Reed.”

Gavin scowled, then, feeling his neck warm. “Tell me what we did for you to know. Tell me.”

Nine fixed him with that icy stare, cocking his head slightly and regarding Gavin with a thoughtful expression, like he was deciding whether he was worthy or not. It made Gavin’s skin crawl. He lit his cigarette and pulled the whiskey into his lap, leaning forward slightly and forcing himself to wait.

“You and Miss Chen sold your horses before we entered the territory,” Nine finally said. “A group of hunters passed us on the trail and I recognized your horse with the red mane. You had been riding him since Nevada, but you parted ways so easily.”

Gavin’s hands curled into fists and he took a sip of whiskey. God dammit, he thought. How fucking idiotic had that been. He and Tina had known it would be unfortunately easier to cut up the trail and onto the cliffside to the cabin without their horses, but Gavin hadn’t considered that Nine might recognize the evidence of Gavin’s presence nearby. He filed that information away for next time. Not that there would be a next time, all things considered, not with Nine at least. He wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake again.

Nine was still watching him, letting him work through his thoughts. Gavin finished his cigarette and flicked it into the fire, immediately rolling another.

“I gathered you would eventually head to the cabin as well,” Nine finally continued into the silence. His eyes tracked Gavin’s cigarette as it moved to his mouth, the smoke curling up towards the stars. “You had likely made some last-minute plan, as always. I must admit, I did not expect you to arrive there first, but I suppose your assumption about the horses was correct.”

“My assumption?” Had Gavin spoken out loud? He eyed Nine warily, like the man was reading his god damned mind. Maybe he was, that freaky fuck.

“Yes, that it would be faster to move along the cliff,” Nine said. “I know how you think. I doubted you, but I seem to have been proven incorrect in that regard recently.”

It wasn’t a compliment, really, but it was said without a hint of sarcasm. It was a common tactic, kissing the ass of your captor, trying to win some little bit of favor. But Gavin knew Nine wasn’t on his side. If he was trying to butter him up, he wouldn’t succeed.

“For the record, I loved that fucker,” Gavin said gruffly, then smirked, “Loved the idea of besting you more, though.”

“But of course,” Nine said, bowing his head slightly, and Gavin remembered that Nine had done nearly the same thing - tying up his horse in the middle of the woods and leaving him behind, just to get one step ahead of Gavin.

“So,” Gavin said, leaning forward and bringing the whiskey to his lips again, prompting him to keep going, “you killed one of your men.”

Nine shrugged, at least as much as he could with his chest bound like that. “I was hoping to fool you. I also quite liked his coat.”

Gavin glanced over at the white ermine fur, folded and peeking out of the pack on the side of Nine’s horse. “How did the rest of the Little Apples feel about that?”

“They gave it no mind,” Nine said. “He was a drunken fool.”

“The rest of them seemed about the same,” Gavin muttered. “Why the fuck were you traveling with them?”

“They were heading where I wanted to go at the time,” Nine said simply. A brief silence stretched between them until Nine said in an even voice, “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Gavin was a little thrown off balance by the question. Of course there was. He had dreamt about his moment for years now, about how he would interrogate Nine, draw all of his secrets from him, wring him out like a rag until there was nothing left. But he found he was suddenly at a loss for words.

Finally, Gavin said, “You got anyone else you know who’s following you?”

“No, nobody who’s ever come as close as you,” Nine replied. Now, that, that made Gavin nearly puff up in pride. “There are always a few of them trying to catch my scent, but no one I really worry about.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bark of the tree. “My life is even less threatened, now. I am quite confident you’ll sooner shoot anyone who sets foot in this campsite than you’ll put a bullet in me.”

“Don’t be so fucking cocky,” Gavin snapped. He contemplated rolling another cigarette and ended up giving in, smoking this one more slowly as he looked at Nine through the firelight. He looked so peaceful, he may as well have been sleeping, though Gavin knew he wasn’t. It was surreal, being this close. He had never been this close for so long.

When Gavin finally laid down on his blanket, staring up at the stars and the half-moon, he still couldn’t find the strength to sleep. He tossed and turned, occasionally rising up on his elbow to look at Nine. Something was nagging in the back of his mind, the realization he had had earlier, that if Nine hadn’t injured himself, Gavin would probably be sleeping beside the campfire with Tina instead.

It had just been so easy.

“Did you let me capture you?” Gavin suddenly asked.

Nine’s eyes opened and caught the fire as he stared down Gavin. A slight frown came over his features, his lip curling in something like disgust as he digested Gavin’s accusation. “As if I asked that terribly trained animal to throw me to the ground? You believe I would give up in such a way? Or that this is some kind of trick?” Nine shook his head slightly in what Gavin could only describe as disappointment. “How insulting, for both of us.”

“Both of us?” Gavin demanded.

“Yes,” Nine said, closing his eyes again and leaning back. “That I would attempt such an idiotic plot, and that you would fall for it.”

Nine’s bitter words looped in his mind as Gavin sat frozen on the blanket. He eventually reached back for his whiskey and drank until he could no longer see or feel or think, until all he could think of was that in three months, Nine would be dead and Gavin would have ten thousand dollars in his place.

It should be twenty, Gavin thought as he finally closed his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Daddy Lessons - Beyonce & The Dixie Chicks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odnFjjt0AzY)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Gavin: Suck my ass  
> Nine: If you insist


	7. the eagle flies with the dove

“Connor,” Hank muttered, his arm over his face, “tell me it stopped raining.”

Connor’s amused voice came from his right, “I would prefer not to lie.”

“God dammit.” Hank peered at Connor from under his arm. His hair was a little damp, his face clean and smooth. True enough, the rain was still pouring down, running in rivulets off of the canopy they had stretched over the wagon and the animals. Hank felt like going back to sleep, but he couldn’t, not with Connor waiting for him. “Coffee?”

“I’ll start a fire.”

Connor hopped off of the front bench and disappeared to kneel on the ground close to the wagon. Hank was pretty sure Connor could start a fire in the middle of a river. He might need to, soon enough. They had been on the trail for a month now, with a handful of rainstorms that began to multiply as June continued on. This particular bout of rain had been ongoing for nearly four days now, and the ground had gone so wet and muddy, they had been driven to the side of the trail to wait out the storm. This was the third dawn that they were spending under their makeshift tent, the prisoners locked up tight in the wagon. They might have been bored in there, but at least they were dry, Hank thought unhappily.

Connor’s head popped up into view. “It’s ready, Hank.”

“I’m comin’,” Hank grumbled. As he bustled about with the coffee pot, he watched Connor check on the animals. He stroked each of their faces, talking in a quiet voice, soothing them. Being tied up in the storm was no picnic. Hank knew they’d all be relieved when they got back on the trail. Connor would be the happiest out of everyone, he thought. They were a few days behind schedule, nothing they couldn’t make up for later, but Connor was getting increasingly anxious. He was constantly darting around, fidgeting worse than usual, checking on the tent, or on the animals, or on the prisoners - or hunched over on the bench, scribbling in his journal - or meticulously rereading his notes from previous days, like he was trying to uncrack some secret code. Or, worst of all, he’d try to read aloud from his worn-out copy of Swiss Family Robinson. Hank always shut that down real fast. He hated that fucking book.

“Think you can keep this going long enough for me to make some grub?” Hank called over to Connor.

“Of course I can,” Connor said as he came to stand next to Hank.

“Good, I’m tired of eating cold beans.” Hank poured Connor a cup of coffee and handed it up to him.

“I like them.”

Hank rolled his eyes as he sipped from his own tin cup. Connor ate anything. Hank stayed squatting by the fire for a minute, just watching the rain come down over the plains, Sumo snuffling around by the wheels of the wagon. Connor stood next to him in a comfortable silence. Hank had half a mind to get out his bottle of whiskey. Instead, he brushed his knees off and stood.

“Let’s take the kids out first,” Hank said gruffly, gaining a smile from Connor. “Must be miserable in there.”

“I hope the storm stops soon,” Connor said. He turned on his heel and strode off into the rain around the side of the wagon. Hank stared after him for a moment before following. He really did move too damn fast for Hank to keep track of.

The gang was huddled together, Simon and Markus on the left side, their knees pressed against Josh and North on the other. They all blinked and shifted around as Hank threw open the doors and let the light in.

“Another fuckin’ beautiful day,” Hank said, leaning in to help get them untied from the wagon. “Everyone hungry?”

“For fresh air, yes,” Josh said, taking a deep breath.

“Never thought I’d be so happy to see your goofy face,” North said as Connor checked her bindings. He just smiled wanly.

“We’re stuck here until at least the rain ends and the ground dries up.” Hank began guiding them out of the wagon, one by one, and he watched as they each turned up their faces towards the sky to feel the rain. Hank could feel Connor’s eyes fixed on him, and eventually he met them, raising his eyebrows in a question. Connor turned away and cleared his throat.

“I’m tired of this,” North said hotly, breaking the silence. “Can’t we just stay outside?” Hank realized she wasn’t asking him; she was asking Markus.

“No,” Markus said. His voice was firm and gentle. “It’s warm and dry in there. It’s safe.”

“I don’t care about safe,” she muttered.

“Think about who you’re saying that to, North.” Markus’ tone had turned to one of warning. “I care quite a bit about it.”

“Well, y’all can stand outside while we eat, how does that sound,” Hank cut in. “Trust me, if I could switch places with you ma’am, I would. That tent leaks like a bitch.”

Sumo led the way back around the side of the wagon, and Connor coaxed the fire back to life while Hank tied Markus and the others to the wagon wheels. Hank and Connor fell into their routine, as usual, and helped each other gather up the pots, pans, and ingredients they would need. Their supplies were holding fast, bolstered up by Hank's occasional hunting excursions. They were still quite a distance from the next outpost worth visiting, and while Hank wasn't worried, he was thinking deeply -  about what it would be like to cook fresh eggs and sausage, to have fresh bread instead of the stale crusty loaves they were used to, to eat a raw apricot instead of an old dried one. He thought about what it would be like when they reached their destination and whether Connor would return back to Covington. Oddly, too, he thought about what North had said. _I don’t care about safe._ He supposed they had that in common.

Hank made another pot of coffee, cooked up some potatoes and rabbit, and smoked his pipe by the fire while he waited. His eyes trailed from the simmering pan, to Connor tending the campfire, to the gang standing up against the wagon. The canopy was barely enough to keep them all dry, but for now, it was all they needed.

As they ate, Hank’s thoughts wandered to Connor. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he was finding that more and more recently, he was glancing at the younger man out of the corner of his eye, following his movements. Hank still felt that Connor was strange, just like he had back the first time they had met at Jimmy’s. Hank had certainly met stranger, but Connor had his odd quirks - his fastidious shaving, his nervous energy, his skill at cooking despite an apparent lack of taste buds. And always nagging in the back of Hank’s mind, the lie about his name that Hank desperately wanted to ask about, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

And Hank had dreamt about him, more than once, now. Hank had never been one to assign deep meaning to his dreams. Yet hadn’t been able to shake off the strange feeling that this time, his mind was trying to tell him something. So far, he had pushed it, whatever it was, to the side. It might make Connor think he could ask his own questions, which Hank certainly didn’t want.

He knew that pushing Connor too hard, asking for too much, might destroy the tenuous partnership that they had built up, which Hank _definitely_ didn’t want. Connor was observant, practical, hard-working to the point of absurdity - he was, so far, the best partner Hank had ever had. Hank didn’t want to fuck that up. But at the same time - was Connor even his _name?_ Where the hell had this kid come from? And, more importantly, did Hank even care? Could he trust him, even not knowing the truth? He wondered, too, if Connor had the same questions about him.

Everyone else seemed to be equally lost in thought. The silence wasn’t nearly as awkward as Hank had expected. He actually welcomed the quiet, escaping into the sound of the rain pounding onto the tent and the ground, the dripping water, the gentle murmurs of the oxen.

“Tired of Mother Nature yet?” Hank finally asked some time later.

“Never,” Markus said with a small smile. “We have certainly been through worse.”

“Yeah, at least we have clothes on this time,” Josh said, and Hank felt an immediate rush of pity and embarrassment for them, and for himself. He felt Connor’s eyes on him, again, but he just turned into his pipe, the smoke enveloping his face.

Connor leaned forward and picked up the coffee pot, shaking it slightly. “There’s a lot leftover, Hank,” he said, cutting through the awkward air, and Hank realized what he was saying.

“Hate to see it go to waste,” Hank grunted after a moment. “Any takers?”

The prisoners looked at him; it was Markus who spoke for them, as usual. “The hospitality is appreciated, but not necessary.”

“Hospitality,” Hank snorted. “I think that’s a bit generous.”

“If you say so,” Markus said, bowing his head.

“I would love some coffee,” Simon piped up.

“I would love some whiskey,” North said.

Hank sighed. “Coffee first,” he said, even as he rose to grab the bottle for himself. “We barely know each other.”

It was Connor who poured and passed out the cups to everyone, and Hank settled back down on his stool, taking a few long swigs from his bottle. He offered it to Connor, who took the whiskey and poured a little bit into his cup of coffee. He winked at Hank mischievously and placed the bottle down between them. Hank hadn’t see him this relaxed in days now, if not longer. Hank turned away and repacked his pipe, hiding a smile in the collar of his jacket.

His partner’s moods were contagious, and Hank also found himself grow lighter as they sat around the campfire. The rain made an almost-pleasant shield around their canopy. Markus and the others were quiet as they sipped their coffee, and Sumo had chosen to lie down at the gang’s feet, snoring quietly, covered entirely in mud.

Eventually Simon leaned forward, locking eyes with Hank and asking, “Where are you from, Hank?”

“Texas,” he grunted.

“And what brought you out to Tennessee?” he continued.

“What brought out these questions?” Hank asked, his skin prickling.

“We could sit in silence, if you’d prefer,” Simon said.

“No, it ain’t that,” Hank said, catching Connor’s eye. Relax, he told himself. “I just don’t enjoy discussing the particulars of my past, that’s all. I’d prefer to leave it there.”

“I think we can all understand that,” Markus said, not unkindly, in a way that told Hank that he didn't want to be asked, either.

Hank could still feel Connor’s eyes on him, and maybe that was why he shifted on his stool and continued brusquely, “I was a soldier for a long time. Became a marshal some twenty odd years ago. Traveled all over this damn country. Guess that’s all I really know.”

“Any family?” Markus asked.

“No,” Hank said, turning back into his pipe. “Not anymore.”

They were looking at him curiously, but pushed no further. Markus instead turned his attention to Connor. “And what about you, Connor?”

“You’re gonna get even less out of him than you are out of me,” Hank said pointedly.

Connor turned to him, mouth opening in surprise, before he closed it in a very slight smile. “Hank is correct,” he said quietly, apologetically. “I also prefer to keep my past in the past.”

“Oh, who cares,” North said dismissively. “It’s not like we’re going to go spreading each other’s secrets around. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m about to be hanged.”

“North,” Josh said, his voice cautionary.

“What?” she shrugged her shoulders as best she could, her bound hands curled around her tin cup. “It’s the truth.”

It probably was the truth, Hank knew. Just like every other trip, he would drop them off and he would never see them again. Sometimes he learned of his passengers’ fate, whether through word of mouth or through the paper or through Fowler himself. What did he care what happened to them, or what they knew about him, or what they thought?

“We’re not dead yet,” Hank said. “Not any of us. So let’s talk about something else.” He held up his hand, silencing Connor before he could speak. “Connor, no, I don’t want you to read Swiss Fuckin’ Robinson, thank you.” Connor closed his mouth with a little shrug and reached down for the whiskey again, unbothered.

“I’ve got a story I don’t mind telling,” North piped up, catching Hank’s gaze; he didn’t miss Markus’ pointed look towards her.

“As long as it’s got a happy ending,” he said, lifting his cup in the air in a toast.

She downed the rest of her coffee in one swallow, and spoke boldly, “I had big plans for my life. My family owned a horse farm up in the northern part of Utah. I was gonna take it over, run that shit better than my drunkard of a father ever could. Guess they didn’t like that, they wanted to marry me off to one of their friends, a man triple my age. I was fourteen.” She spit on the ground. “Fuck that. I ran off, did a whole bunch of shit I’m not proud of, fell in with a bunch of bandits after a couple of years. Most of them were pricks. Two of them, I liked.” She knocked her shoulders against Simon, then Josh, smirking at them, then laughing. “Once we joined up with the man with two dicks over here, everything kind of fell into place.”

“That isn’t true, by the way,” Simon piped up, and Hank had to laugh, releasing a tension he was surprised by.

North leaned forward, fixing Hank with her sly eyes. “There, I’d say we all know each other a little better. How about that whiskey?”

As he looked around at everyone sitting before him, he was pretty sure they all had similar stories. If there was one thing that got deep under Hank’s skin, more than violence, more than cruelty, it was the idea of kids getting their lives ruined. A happy fucking ending, indeed.

Hank sighed deeply and then got onto his feet. His back ached, his chest ached.

“One each,” he warned, and then he filled each of their empty cups from his bottle.

 

~

 

They sat and talked until Hank was pretty sure the sun had set. The rain had continued relentlessly all day, and so had their conversation. Connor had relaxed considerably, choosing to sit next to Hank by the campfire instead of putter around the camp checking the wheels for the hundredth time. Somehow, despite Hank’s best efforts, the discussion stayed firmly on their pasts. Markus himself was just as reticent as Hank, he noticed, but the others shared enough for everyone. Josh had grown up Baptist, Simon had grown up in Boston, but like North, they had both fled volatile families, families that wanted to control their every move and action. Hank felt pity for them, still, but he felt something else, something that gripped onto what was left of his soul - something like admiration. Not that he would ever say it out loud.

Finally, they put the gang back in the dark and dry wagon, and Connor put the fire out while Hank made himself comfortable on the front bench of the wagon. He and Connor had alternated nights sleeping on the bench, or on the more comfortable platform just above it, but tonight, Connor crawled up and sat next to Hank.

“Not tired?” Hank prompted. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as he usually was at this time. A small victory, he supposed.

“Not really,” Connor said. His leg bounced up and down nervously. “What do you think about them?” he finally asked.

“I take it you ain’t talkin’ about the oxen, kiddo,” Hank said.

“No.” Connor’s words were carefully chosen. “Is it usually like this?”

“They’re probably the best group of passengers I’ve had in years,” Hank said as he puffed on his pipe. He thought about one of their first conversations, on their way out to the prison, before they got to Newport. “I know you might not be planning on it, but you’ll see, if you get on another job like this. They’re not always so personable.”

“I just wonder if it’s easier,” Connor said. He turned on the bench and pulled his leg up to his chest, looking at Hank. It was dark under the canopy, blanketed by the rain, but Hank could still make out his face. “You’re kind to them. You treat them like - human beings.”

“You catch more flies with honey, Connor,” Hank said, almost laughing at his words. “Not that you should let your guard down, but, it won’t kill anyone for us to be courteous. Not that you aren’t already.”

Connor’s face was unsure, and his silence told Hank that he didn’t know whether to agree or not. Hank shifted a bit and leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Connor. That could be me in that wagon. Hell, it could be you. Some people end up in the wrong fuckin’ place at the wrong fuckin’ time. It doesn’t make their decisions right, but I’m not the one to judge them. I’m just here to do my job.” He paused, and then the words spilled out, before he could stop them. “I’ve been alone for a long time. Just me and Sumo here. Taking these transport contracts - it feels a little less lonely, I suppose, as fucked up as it sounds. But I feel like I’m doin’ a good thing, or as close to a good thing as I’ll ever get. I get to stay on the move and they get a little bit of dignity. Everyone deserves that.”

“Yes,” Connor finally said, “I suppose they do.” He paused, hesitating briefly, something he rarely did. “And so do you.”

Hank didn’t know what to say to that, and as they sat in silence, Hank wondered if what Connor said was true. He knew that if he hadn’t taken this contract, if Fowler hadn’t taken pity on him all those years ago and given him his first transport job - yeah, he might be drunk in a ditch somewhere, if he was being honest with himself, and nobody would give a shit. The prisoners would either still be in jail, or they’d be on the trail with some vindictive son of a bitch in Hank’s place. And Connor would be - Hank didn’t know where Connor would be.

That thought had him finishing the rest of his bottle, and as the sky darkened and the rain continued, Connor eventually fell asleep, his head nodding onto Hank’s shoulder. He didn’t have the heart to tell him to move.

 

~

 

It was the middle of the night when Hank suddenly jolted awake, mouth dry and head heavy. They had dozed off sitting on the bench together, and Hank wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he was pretty sure the tent was leaking even worse than before. He groaned and reached back onto the platform for a blanket, but found only Sumo, snoring and soaking wet on the fabric.

Connor just barely stirred next to him, but his voice was quiet and clear. “What’s wrong, Hank?”

“Just our piece of shit tent,” Hank grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, now uncomfortably aware of his wet clothes and of Connor sighing next to him.

“It will end soon,” Connor said with a yawn, clearly attempting to sound optimistic. Then he said, voice a little lighter, “Next trip, ask Fowler for a bigger wagon.”

“Fuckin’ right,” Hank muttered. “I feel mighty sorry for them, but god help me, right now I am feeling a powerful jealousy.”

“I bet it is a lot drier in there,” Connor said thoughtfully.

Hank looked out into the darkness, the rain coming down in sheets around them, and finally sighed. “God dammit Connor,” he said in a resigned voice, “what the fuck are we doing? Let’s go sit inside.”

“With the prisoners?” Connor asked, as if he was confused, even while he gathered his cloak around him.

“No, with the fuckin’ president,” Hank said as he shook Sumo awake, “yes, with the prisoners. There’s room for all of us.”

“There are dry blankets in there, as well,” Connor mused. “It probably is the best option.”

“Stop talkin’ about it and come on.” Hank stumbled off of the bench and into the mud, and he knew that Connor was right behind him.

When Hank pulled open the back doors of the wagon, its sleeping passengers awoke almost instantly, four sets of eyes staring out of the darkness.

“What’s going on?” Markus asked, his voice calm and firm, as if something was terribly wrong, like Hank had just suddenly decided to beat on them. Hank wondered how many times that had happened before.

“Room for three more?” Hank urged Sumo forward, and the big dog jumped up and easily made himself at home at the space between everyone’s feet. Then Hank climbed in, extending a hand to help Connor step up inside, before they pulled the doors closed behind them. Hank settled on the bench next to Markus, and though it was dark, he could make out each of the prisoners, their bound hands resting before them. And Connor, just across from him, drying his face with his sleeve.

“Pardon us for the intrusion,” Hank finally said, clearing his throat. “And pardon me for my reach.” He leaned across them, reaching to the pile of belongings stored inside the wagon and drawing out a large woven blanket, blessedly dry. While Sumo resumed his snoring on the floor between them, Hank stretched out the blanket over everyone’s laps. Connor helped him, tucking in its edge over their legs, pressed together in the confined space of the wagon.

“Don’t want anybody catching pneumonia,” Hank grunted as a final explanation, adding with a chuckle, “Though to be fair, I’m probably the most likely candidate.”

“Well, if you die, we all die, Hank Anderson,” North quipped into the darkness. “Better find a good reason to keep living on this bitch of an earth.”

“Sure,” Hank said, leaning back and settling his hat over his face. The wagon was cool and dry, the rain like a cocoon around them. Simon and Markus leaned against each other, Josh hummed under his breath, Sumo snored, and under the blankets, Connor’s slender knees pressed against Hank’s. In the darkness, under his hat, he allowed himself a smile. “I can think of a few.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Love The One You’re With - Crosby Stills & Nash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SY4HI_vqf0c)


	8. i’d do it over and over and over again if i could

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been crazy for me, but thanks for the reviews and kudos! I'm getting back on track here and have way more free time to write- thanks for sticking around on this silly journey...! :)

“Hey asshole,” Gavin called out from his saddle, “we’re going up the hill.”

Nine slowed his steps and turned around, looking up at Gavin with his eyebrows raised. Most of his face was hidden by Gavin’s black bandana, but his eyes were more than enough to piss Gavin off.

They were over a fortnight into the mountains of Utah and Gavin was losing his shit. Nine hadn’t struggled with him physically, at least not yet, maybe due to his lingering injuries. But mentally - emotionally - spiritually - Gavin felt like he was really, truly being tested.

Gavin had thought what this would be like so many times over the years. Nine would try to fight him off at every turn, he would spit and snarl and scream, and Gavin would conquer him, he would always conquer him. He had imagined it, rehearsed it, prepared a novel’s worth of denigrations to throw at this man. Yet Nine, as usual, cared little for Gavin’s plans. He questioned every decision Gavin made, sometimes sounding like a child, sometimes like Tina, sometimes like his father. He brushed off his insults or tossed them back unacknowledged. Or worst of all, sometimes he was entirely indifferent, and simply limped along the trail ahead of the horses, regardless of what Gavin said or did.

All of Gavin’s jabs and snipes were going to waste. He was constantly keyed up for a fistfight, constantly aware of his gun and his knife and his fists. The unspent agitation was driving him crazy. He had expected Nine to resist at every step of the way. Yet all he had done so far was argue. Gavin had found that wasn’t nearly enough to appease him, and yet, he only ever entertained the idea of violence, unwilling to stoop to such a low level. It was what Nine wanted, he knew, to egg him on until he really did lose his mind. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Reed,” Nine said, bringing Gavin back to the present moment on the trail, “do you need to ask for directions?”

“Just go up the hill, fucker,” Gavin snapped.

“Why don’t you get off your horse and lead the way?” Nine suggested, nodding up into the trees. “You can inspect the ground for bear traps.”

The late May snowstorm had melted away as they moved further south, and though the foliage was rich and green around them, though the afternoon sun streamed in through the leaves, Nine’s eyes burned through the air like a strike of lightning.

“While my limping seems to amuse you,” Nine continued, “my foot getting snapped off would surely delay our journey even further. I might expire of old age before I ever see a judge.”

“Fuck you,” Gavin spat. “Let’s go, I’ve got places to be. If you’re too tired to walk, you could sit on your ass and I’ll drag you up.” He tugged on the rope that trailed a dozen feet and ended around Nine’s neck, and took a not-small amount of pleasure in the way Nine grimaced and involuntarily stepped forward. He glared at Gavin, but he turned back up towards the woods and began to move.

Gavin let the horses pick their way up through the trees at their own pace. Nine's black horse followed behind, his head held high and proud, and the steady mare Gavin rode led the way up. He had started calling her Apple, in honor of her ill-fated previous owners, though he found her to be considerably smarter. Nine fell into step next to them, instead of in the front like usual, staying close to Apple so his rope wouldn’t get caught or tangled. It was a short trek up the sloping hill, and soon they broke out onto the mountain ridge, looking down into the valley below.

To the north, where they had come from, the mountains had eventually whittled down to a canyon, cut open by a meandering river that continued for miles to the south. They would follow its path as long as they could, but before they did, Gavin had plans that he was deadset on sticking to.

He pointed down at the river as they settled at the cliff’s edge. There was a small settlement at the curve of the river, just a cluster of buildings, with the biggest one sending a plume of smoke up into the oncoming sunset. It was one of the last little bits of civilization Gavin would seek out before they made their way out of Utah, and he knew that Nine recognized it.

“Remember this place?” Gavin called out.

Nine put his good foot up on a nearby jutting rock and leaned onto it, contemplative. “I do, in fact. I passed through this way not long ago.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I assumed that was a given.”

“I did lose you somewhere down the trail thataways,” Gavin said, gesturing to the west and adding with a smirk, “I eventually caught up, though I assume that’s a given.”

“I believe you could thank Miss Chen for that,” Nine brushed him off. His eyes stayed trained on the outpost below. “I remember I considered robbing that saloon, but decided against it.”

“Good fucking choice,” Gavin said with a bark of laughter. “The Bullpen is usually full of fucking bounty hunters.”

Nine turned his metallic eyes up to Gavin with a withering expression. “Well, had I known that, I certainly would have dropped in.”

“You’re a jackass,” Gavin said, his ears hot with annoyance. “Anyway, luckily for you, things are pretty quiet around these parts this time of year. We probably won’t get recognized.”

Nine blinked at him, disarmed, and it sent a thrum of bone-deep satisfaction through Gavin. He shifted in his saddle, smirking, waiting for Nine to respond. It felt good to surprise him.

“You intend to enter the saloon,” Nine said with narrowed eyes. It wasn’t a question.

“Did I ask for your fucking permission? I never let a good bar go unattended.”

“No need to forget your manners. I was simply clarifying your intentions.”

His calm voice in contrast to Gavin’s own frustration sent him back to complete and utter aggravation. He clenched his jaw, seething, dying to jump from his saddle and pin Nine to the ground, just like he had back in Idaho. Instead, he rolled a cigarette and popped it between his teeth.

“Fuck you,” he finally said. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

 

~

 

They moved back down the hill a ways until their campfire would be invisible to the valley below, and Gavin quickly went through his typical nightly motions with the horses, the tent, the fire, and Nine. Gavin tied him to a nearby sturdy tree, his chest bound, his legs stretched out ahead of him, and then peeled the bandana from his face. Gavin was never sure what he wanted to see. A snarl, a grimace, or a shit-eating smile, a rare expression for him. Usually it was just simple indifference. Gavin hated that most of all.

He didn’t feel like cooking, and instead grabbed a couple of pieces of jerky, jamming one into Nine’s mouth before settling down on the blanket with his last, half-empty bottle of whiskey. They’d be arriving to the Bullpen just in time. Gavin knew he couldn’t make it a day without a drink, not on this journey.

Nine had to chew slowly and carefully to keep the strip of meat from falling out of his mouth, and Gavin took great delight in this small inconvenience to him. He would take what he could get. The process kept Nine mercifully silent, at least for a few minutes, though Gavin found himself itching for another argument despite himself. He rolled and smoked two cigarettes in a row. His fingers twitched on the neck of his bottle. He was bored. But it was Nine who broke the silence.

“What would Miss Chen have to say about you taking me to the saloon?” he asked. He had finished his dinner and his eyes were now following Gavin’s cigarette. Up and down, from lap to mouth.

Gavin scowled. “She’d tell me I’m a fucking idiot, probably. She’s not one for sentimental shit.”

“So your real reason for returning here is not for liquor, but nostalgia. How sweet.”

“As fucking sugar,” Gavin said. “She would’ve gone along with it, though. Not that you have a choice.”

“I do not,” Nine agreed. His face was flickering in the firelight. “You’re still an idiot for doing this.”

“The saloon is neutral territory.” Gavin was close to finishing his cigarette, and he shifted his fingers a bit, holding fast against his lips. He scratched his chin thoughtfully as he exhaled. “Everyone’s supposed to leave each other alone, respect each other’s warrants, all that shit. If all the bounty hunters had to worry about that crap in there, they’d never come through. And fuck you, by the way.”

“The Bullpen may be neutral territory,” Nine said, “but the trail after it is not.”

Gavin tossed the last little bit of tobacco into the fire, but Nine’s eyes didn’t follow it, they just stayed trained on his face, almost like a challenge. Gavin could easily stand up and go beat the shit out of him. A lot of others would have. It was certainly tempting.

“That’s what my shotgun is for,” Gavin finally grunted.

“Reed, by the end of this trip, you’ll have killed as many men as I have,” Nine said as he settled back against the tree, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“Never,” Gavin snapped as anger gripped him, suddenly. He could never do the things Nine had done. He could never understand it. “We’d have to travel to Plainview and back a thousand fucking times.”

“My crimes are greatly exaggerated,” Nine said. His voice dripped with condescension. He had closed his eyes, but now he had one open, peering at him from beneath a few errant curls. “Though you must know that.”

“Fuck you.” The phrase was losing its power. He wasn't sure why he talked to Nine like this. Gavin grabbed his whiskey, eyes and mouth burning with smoke, his temper threatening to flare up just like the flames in the wind, and stumbled to his feet. He moved towards his tent, crouching down to enter, but found himself hesitating with the flap open. He almost said something else, something about how pathetic Nine was. Instead he just crawled into his blankets and listened to the sound of the fire.

Gavin rose just after dawn, uncharacteristically early for him. Nine was already awake and waiting, and he led the way down to the valley in silence.

 

~

 

The saloon looked just like it always had, though it was much more quiet than it had been in the thick of trapping season. They picked their way up the river until they arrived, Nine turning around only once to fix Gavin with an icy stare. They could see a couple of horses tied to the posts outside. So they wouldn’t be the only patrons. Big fucking deal, Gavin thought, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

As they approached the building, a familiar face appeared through the doorway, regarding them from the front steps of the porch.

“Miller,” Gavin called out in greeting as they rode up. “How’s the wife and kid?”

“Staying out of trouble,” Chris said, shaking his head, still smiling that polite little smile. “I see you can’t say the same.”

“Never in my life, god willing,” Gavin laughed as he hopped from his saddle. He kept his eyes on Chris, though. He had been a bounty hunter himself years ago, before he married, before he built the Bullpen as a young man. He had never seen either of the RK brothers in person, Gavin knew, but if his appearance was obvious, Gavin was sure Chris would recognize him. Yet Chris simply glanced over Nine and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. Gavin’s grin widened. “Got a spot at the bar?” he asked.

“Quite a few, in fact,” Chris said as he turned back into the bar. “Better to sit outside though, the day is nice enough.”

Gavin understood, and settled Nine in a handmade chair at a handmade table, everything crafted and built by Chris and his wife. The inside of the saloon was full of rugs, furs, and books that Chris had either received in trade or in gratitude, even more so since he had become a father the year before. His son was probably going to start walking soon. The time had passed so god damned quickly.

He rolled a cigarette as Nine sat in his chair. Gavin had wrapped the ropes around his chest and removed the loop from his neck, but the bandana remained, of course. Nine’s eyes stared at him over the top of the black fabric, his brow furrowed in judgment.

“What’s the problem?” Gavin asked as he lit his cigarette.

“I must repeat that this is supremely idiotic,” Nine said.

“Let’s think of it instead as a challenge,” Gavin offered. He settled back into his chair. “If you don’t get recognized here we’ll be golden. So far, so good.”

“You are far too cocky, Reed,” Nine said. “If you’d like to challenge yourself, ride my horse.”

“I would break that stallion in one ride,” Gavin shot back. “He would be mine.”

“I’m sure,” Nine said. Gavin thought about kicking him under the table. As he entertained the thought, Chris reappeared with a glass of golden bourbon and a pint of dark beer, exactly what Gavin had drunk the last time he was here.

“You write down my order or something?” Gavin grumbled, silently pleased as he put his money on the table.

“Lucky guess,” Chris said, his smile always polite and dignified, though it faltered slightly as he continued, “It’s good to see you in one piece, though not as good to see you traveling alone.”

“She’s alright,” Gavin said. Secretly, this was one of the reasons he wanted to come to the saloon. Chris and Tina had been friends for years. She frequented the saloon far more than Gavin ever had in her travels, and it was here that their friendship had begun. He felt, in some way, that he owed it to Chris to stop here. “She’s a tough one. She’ll be back on the trail soon enough, but don’t get too alarmed if you don’t see her for awhile.”

“I appreciate the news,” Chris said, his smile returning.

“And I appreciate the good memory,” Gavin said, raising his glass in a toast.

“Where you headed off to next?” Chris nodded towards Nine. “This your guy?” The tilt of his words made it clear that he wasn’t sure, and Gavin had to clench his fists in his lap.

“This bastard? He’s got a warrant out in Moab,” Gavin lied, watching Chris closely. “I need the reward before I get back on the trail.”

He remembered drunkenly lamenting to Chris about his neverending search. Chris knew of Nine and his now-dead brother, of course, but he had begun retreating from this life some time before they became truly notorious ten years earlier, when Nine had murdered the Kamskis. Gavin was certain Chris had never been in Nine’s presence before. Hell, most people hadn’t, at least if they were still breathing.

Chris’s eyes flickered over Nine, though there wasn’t much to see. He was wearing Gavin’s bandana, as usual, and Gavin had placed one of his black hats on Nine’s head, letting the wide brim hide Nine’s newly-short hair and cast a shadow across his face. Nine had slumped slightly in his seat, missing his usual straight posture and squared shoulders. His stony eyes were fixed on Gavin, the only part of him truly showing, but poster drawings couldn’t capture those eyes, and Chris, incredibly, blessedly, seemed to be none the wiser.

Gavin wasn’t sure whether to feel accomplished or disappointed. Even more annoying, Nine was still staring at him.

“Well, stop in on your way back up,” Chris said amicably. He usually avoided discussing the criminals with his patrons. He tossed his rag over his shoulder and turned to move away, swiping Gavin’s empty whiskey glass. “You need supplies?”

“Sure do. The usual stuff.”

Chris agreed they’d talk business later on, and left Gavin and Nine alone on the porch. Gavin puffed on another cigarette and sipped on the strong earthy beer that was unique to the saloon. Nine settled back, straightening his spine, like that was actually more comfortable than relaxing in the chair. Maybe it was, for him.

“I didn’t know we were going to Moab,” Nine said dryly.

“We’re not, asshole,” Gavin said, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “He didn’t recognize you.”

“Maybe he’s being coy,” Nine said from behind his bandana.

“You know,” Gavin continued, kicking his feet up onto the railing as he smoked, gaining a disapproving look from Nine, “I don’t think anyone ever thought I’d catch you. I mean, shit, that’s a better disguise that anything else.”

“How fascinating,” Nine said, “that so many people doubt and dislike you.”

“Same to you, fucker,” Gavin said through his cigarette. “Same to you.”

He rolled another when he was finished, noting how low he was, thinking about what else he needed to purchase while they were here. Chris would sell him tobacco, matches, whiskey, coffee beans, shaving cream, bullets - just about everything important, Gavin reasoned, at least for now.

They sat in silence until Gavin heard footsteps on the deck. He turned, hoping to see Chris with another beer, but instead he saw -

“Reed,” the man sneered, “how nice to see you alive.”

Oh, god dammit.

“Richard fucking Perkins,” Gavin muttered. “I was sure you’d retired by now.”

Perkins’ eyes narrowed. “I could say the same of you.” He glanced over at Nine, but unlike Chris, he actually examined him, taking in his posture, his expression. And unlike Chris, Perkins had seen Nine in person before. The man had been a bounty hunter for years, years longer than Gavin had. He was heartless and singleminded, disaffected and unflinching. He was the last person Gavin would’ve wanted to see in this fucking place. Gavin clutched at his glass so hard he was sure it would shatter.

“Well, it was so nice to catch up,” Gavin growled, standing up, “but I’m on my way down the river.”

“Who’re you taking in?” Perkins said, nearly interrupting him. His eyes hadn’t left Nine yet. Nine stared back, unmoving, only his two silvery eyes showing over the top of his bandana.

“Name’s Richard,” Gavin said.  “But trust me, everyone calls him Dick.”

“I know every warrant from here to Santa Fe,” Perkins drawled, ignoring him, “but I can’t say I recognize this bastard.”

Gavin had wanted to untie Nine from the chair, to get his supplies and get the fuck out, but he found himself unable to move. He gripped the back of his chair with white knuckles. They formed a tense triangle, Nine bound and seated, Gavin and Perkins standing opposite of each other.

“And clearly,” Perkins continued, putting his hands on his hips, opening his jacket to reveal the pistol on his belt, “you have gone to get lengths to make sure I don’t.”

“Just exercising my right to privacy,” Gavin said. He was sweating. He finally broke free of his nerves and moved over to Nine, his hands quickly working over the knots. Nine was still beneath the ropes, and Perkins' eyes burned into the two of them.

It would be pretty bad form for him to betray the understood rules of a place like the Bullpen. Perkins was nothing if not professional. Many men saw their career more like a competition, but neither Gavin nor Perkins fell into that category. Yet Gavin knew if the roles were reversed, he would be following Perkins down the river until he could overtake him and capture Nine for himself.

Perkins stepped forward, dangerously close to them, and Gavin twisted his hand in Nine’s shirt to pull him upwards. “Excuse us,” Gavin said, “I don’t come to the Bullpen for the conversation.”

“I wonder why you did come here, Reed,” Perkins mused. “You certainly enjoy drawing attention to yourself. You always have, from what I recall.”

“Didn’t realize you were so fucking observant,” Gavin said dismissively.

“Oh, I am,” Perkins said with a smug smile.

Then he snapped his hand out and ripped down Nine’s bandana. It dropped down around his neck, revealing his stony expression. A white-hot flash of rage took over Gavin’s mind and he moved forward, first to punch that fucking asshole in the jaw, and then, instead, he was holding Nine back as he lunged forward and spit right into the center of Perkins’ face.

“What the fuck,” Perkins gaped, jerking back, fixing Nine with a murderous look, and Gavin laughed.

“Look at that, Dick,” Gavin crowed out, “you made a friend.”

Perkins wiped his face with his handkerchief, his face red, and then drew his pistol.

“Did you forget where you are, motherfucker?” Gavin shouted, scrambling for his own gun, though he didn’t dare draw it just yet.

“Just because we’re on neutral ground doesn’t mean I’ll accept being assaulted,” Perkins said. “We could settle this quite quietly, Reed.”

“No,” Gavin snarled, “I don’t think we can.”

“If you insist,” Perkins said, and he cocked his gun, gesturing at them, “we should go somewhere more private.”

Gavin truly considered shooting the other man, but before either of them could move, Chris’s voice came from the doorway, “Put your gun down, Richard.”

He had his shotgun aimed at Perkins’ body, and his face was stern and focused and completely done with everyone’s shit. “Gavin, I gotta ask you to leave.”

“Fine by me,” Gavin said, though he didn’t move at first. He waited for Perkins to lower his pistol, slowly, his face full of hate. He was pissed. Gavin, despite himself, had his fear replaced by bubbling glee. He looped the rope back around Nine’s neck, leaving it fairly loose, and then retied his bandana. Gavin nearly started whistling, until he felt Nine’s good foot come down on his toes, just hard enough to jolt him out of his reverie. He almost shouted, but didn’t want to give Perkins the show. Instead, he tugged on Nine’s rope and stepped away from the table, scowling. Chris still had his shotgun pointed in their direction.

“Happy trails, dickhead,” Gavin said with a sarcastic tip of his hat.

“We’ll meet again,” Perkins assured him, sneering.

“I had told you to stay inside,” Chris said to Perkins. His usually calm voice was firm and ferocious.

“No matter.” Perkins had holstered his gun but had yet to move. "I think I'll be taking my leave as well."

“You still need to pay your tab,” Chris said from the other end of his shotgun, “and my cash register unfortunately seemed to stop working. You’ll need to wait inside until I get it sorted out.”

He patiently waited until Perkins, grimacing and muttering, retreated back into the saloon, before he lowered his gun.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Chris told Gavin. “But it won’t be here.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Miller,” Gavin said lightly. His palms were damp as they slipped along Nine’s rope. He felt as though he had just been tumbled through a stretch of river rapids. “We need to go.”

They quickly crossed around the side of the building, and as Gavin readied the horses in the afternoon sun, Nine watched him impassively as if nothing had happened. Gavin could only contain himself for so long before he hissed, “What the fuck was that?”

“I think you may need to see a doctor, Reed. Your memory is very poor.”

“No, asshole, why the _hell_ did you do that?” Gavin pushed Nine forward and they began moving around the back of the building. “I mean - fuck it, he deserved it, but how’s that for fucking idiotic.”

“I can’t allow you to be the only one around here making stupid choices,” Nine said with a shrug.

Gavin scowled, but their bickering was cut short as they approached the back door into the saloon. He had guessed Chris would be waiting there, and he was right.

“Wife’s watching the bar,” Chris said as they approached. “She’s better with the shotgun than I am, anyway.”

“You’re a master of hospitality,” Gavin said.

“Just trying to do the right thing.” Chris handed him a canvas pack. “Not that that phrase has much meaning these days. Sorry about Perkins.”

Gavin peered inside. It was just about everything he needed. He could use more tobacco, but there was enough to get him to the next outpost. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, shoving them into Chris’s palm.

“Hope you get that register working,” he said, hopping back up onto Apple before Chris could protest.

“Hope you make it to Moab in one piece,” Chris said as he lingered in the doorway. “Or wherever you’re going.”

They rode off, along the river, back on the trail to Plainview.

 

~

 

It was only a mile or so down the trail when Gavin stopped the horses and jumped onto the rocky ground by the water. The birds and insects sang around them in the shadows of the trees and the canyon, and Nine stood there watching, unmoving, as Gavin strode towards his black horse and began moving around the gear tied to his saddle.

“I don’t suppose you’re accepting my challenge,” Nine called out as Gavin made room on the horse’s back.

“I’m not riding him,” Gavin said shortly. “You’ll probably tell him to throw me off.”

“You have so little confidence in me.”

“Oh, I have full confidence in you, asshole,” Gavin said. He pulled on the rope, forcing Nine to step closer. “Get on.”

Nine blinked at him, and Gavin felt again that thrill of shocking him, of besting him. “I’m not doing this outta the goodness of my heart, here,” Gavin said. “We need to cover a shit ton of ground quickly if we want to lose Perkins. Chris can only stall him for so long. I can’t have you stumbling along slowing us down.”

“For once, I must agree with you,” Nine said. His voice was muffled behind the bandana, but his eyes were clear and focused. “Given the choice, I would prefer to stay with my horse.”

“Yeah, well, Perkins isn’t one for generosity,” Gavin said.

“I see that,” Nine said. “I know of him. The Jackal, they call him.” He snorted, close to a laugh. “I feel that’s an insult to jackals.”

Gavin actually did chuckle. “He gave himself that nickname. Fucking arrogant prick.” He realized his hand was laying on the black stallion’s back flank, absently scratching and patting him. “Let’s get fucking going.”

Gavin had to help Nine up into the saddle, his hands still bound in front of him, and tied his legs to the stirrups, leaving the rope around his neck. Gavin took the horse’s reins, and Nine’s, into his hands and got back onto Apple, who nickered impatiently, as if she knew they had to keep moving.

“If you try anything...” Gavin warned, but he trailed off as Nine turned to glance over his shoulder, his eyes remarkably amused.

He bowed deeply and overdramatically at the waist, looking far more comfortable on top of the horse than he did walking on foot. Gavin hadn’t seen this sight in some time. He met Nine’s eyes again, and the man said, “Would you prefer I spit in your face?”

“Fuck you,” he said, and then they continued down the trail, side-by-side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44W9qstI8H8)


	9. you and i, there’s air in between

“If I never see rain again, I’ll die a happy man,” Hank declared loudly from his post on top of Daisy. It had been several days since the storm had ended, and the longest stretch of nice weather they had had in weeks. Connor was driving the wagon today, and the gang walked ahead, as always, in their little line, attached to each other. Markus turned up and flashed Hank a pensive smile.

“Ah, Hank, rain is the giver of life,” he said philosophically. “If we never see rain again, we will all die, though probably very unhappily.”

“Way ahead of you, boss,” North called out.

“Ain’t dead yet,” Hank grunted. “Unhappy, maybe.”

“Well, can’t blame me for that one,” she said, quite brightly.

“Can’t say I do,” Hank agreed.

After that night they had all shared sleeping in the wagon, something had lifted from them, or rather, something had descended upon them. It was a kind of easy familiarity that Hank had never found on the trail before, _especially_ not with the people he was contractually obligated to be around. Maybe he had just avoided it. Maybe he was going soft in his old age. Maybe, it was Connor’s bad influence.

“Have you all ever traveled this way?” Connor asked from the bench. He spoke over the oxen’s quiet murmuring movements, his voice as clear as the sky.

“I came through this area on my way out the first time,” Josh said, “but never since then, from the east at least.”

“The territory’s changed,” Markus said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure of the last time we were this far south.” He looked back over his shoulder at Simon, who smiled back at him.

“It was maybe three or so years ago,” Simon said, “we camped by that lake, near Black Kettle.”

“Yes,” Markus said, “I remember.”

“Yeah, so do I,” North chimed in. “That was back before - “

“No need to elaborate,” Markus said over her. His ears were pink. Simon was still smiling. “Hank and Connor aren’t interested.”

“I am,” Connor said at once.

“Come on, kid,” Hank said. “Any good man has a secret or two.”

“Then you must be full of them,” Connor returned easily.

“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.” Hank cleared his throat and slowed Daisy until he was riding alongside the wagon, instead of the gang. “You’ve been this way?”

“Yes,” Connor said. He had been wearing Hank’s wide-brimmed grey hat earlier in the day, but as the day warmed, he had shed the hat and his jacket. His loose shirt was open at the collar. Sumo, tired of walking, was laying on the bench with his head in Connor’s lap. The young man looked comfortable at the front of the wagon. Hank felt comfortable with him there, too. “We will stay on this trail until we reach the next outpost. I am enjoying this particular stretch. It's a nice area."

“Sure is,” Hank said agreeably. Trees had begun to appear more frequently along the trail, and while Hank wouldn’t have said they were in the middle of the woods, they were beginning to see the sun dapple down between the branches and leaves. The grass was higher and thinner, and there was still plenty of space to see the sun and the stars above.

“There’s a river up this way,” Connor continued. “It runs, I believe, parallel to this road.”

“Maybe we could do some fishing,” Hank said, stroking his beard, and Connor grinned, putting his hat back on and tipping its brim in agreement.

They rode for another hour or so before they began seeing the forest thin out. They were drawing closer to the river, and eventually they had enough space to turn the oxen into the trees. Connor stopped the wagon close to the water, and they let the animals free to graze. Sumo immediately jumped into the gentle, narrow river, barking uproariously.

“Sumo, you’re scaring away the fish!” Hank scolded, though there was no real anger behind it. Sumo had been filthy for days, just like the rest of them. Being close to the river was a blessing. They could bathe, collect water, cook with more ease. Maybe they could camp here for the night, Hank mused to himself. It was a good spot. They were still a little behind schedule, and they probably could have kept traveling for the rest of the day, shaving another few miles off their map. Yet Hank didn’t feel a strong need to keep going. They’d make up for lost time later on, he reasoned.

He set up their tents while Connor tied the gang to the wagon wheels. They were content to settle in the grass, looking out over the river. Connor said nothing about the fact that this was quickly transforming into a campsite.

“Maybe we could take a swim later,” Hank found himself saying. “Get some of this grime off. The river’s not too deep. So nobody’ll be swimming off,” he added lightly, nodding to Markus, explicitly including them in the conversation. Markus bowed his head in agreement.

“I’d like to wash some clothes, too,” Connor said. He gave Hank that look of significance, his eyebrows raised, lips curved in just the barest hint of a knowing smile. Hank knew what he meant. They should get the group some clean things to wear. He was actually inclined to agree, though usually, at least on shorter trips, he wouldn’t have bothered. They still had a long road ahead, Hank told himself. It made sense to get everyone washed up.

They busied themselves around the wagon, but Hank noticed that Connor kept increasingly stopping at the river’s edge and gazing out into the trees on the other side, lost in thought. Finally Hank could putter with their gear no longer and he joined Connor by the water.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said by way of greeting.

“A penny’s of no use to me here,” Connor said.

Hank chose to ignore that. “You recognize this place or somethin’?”

“Not exactly,” Connor said. His voice was slow and contemplative. “I’d like to scout around the area.”

“Sure, if you’d like.” Hank left it there. He understood Connor’s occasional desire to be alone, to just get out in the fresh air and foliage and breathe for a few minutes. Hank had done all of the hunting on the trip so far, and even if he wasn’t always as successful as he hoped, he still appreciated the opportunity for a bit of solitude here and there. Connor needed the same, he figured.

“I won’t be long,” Connor assured him. He took off Hank’s hat, turning the brim around and around in his hands almost nervously, and then handed it back to him. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Hank said gruffly. He turned off, back to their prisoners, back to their campsite. “Take Sumo with you,” he added as he walked off to pack up his pipe. When he glanced back, Connor had waded across the river, his hair hanging in his face, ready to explore the woods with Sumo by his side.

Hank turned, sure that they were watching him, but when he looked at the gang, they were absorbed in their own conversation. Hank lit his pipe and settled on his stool close by. Fishing could wait a while, he supposed. He could wait for Connor.

 

~

 

True to his word, it wasn’t long before Connor returned. Hank had fully committed to their campsite, setting up a fire and a pot of water for stew, taking out their fishing poles, which they had yet to use this trip. Connor had brought his own; Hank hadn’t used his in, hell, he didn’t even know. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt an urge to fish. He couldn’t remember the last time he was looking forward to fishing _with_ somebody. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to be around anybody at all. Well, not that he _wanted_ to be around Connor. Or Markus, or the others. But he really didn’t mind their presence, Hank had decided. That was about as close as he figured he could get.

“Anything good?” Hank called out.

He had expected Connor to cross the two dozen or so feet back over the river and to their camp, but he stayed where he was on the opposite side. “Yes,” he answered. “Can I show you?”

Hank blinked. He was intrigued, but he was also feeling hungry and lazy. He glanced at the quartet tied to the wagon wheels and sighed. “Well, get back over and help me, then,” he said as he got to his feet.

Connor didn’t budge. He looked oddly defiant, his hands on his hips. “Hank, they’re not going anywhere.”

Hank rarely liked to leave his charges alone, but when it was necessary, he would lock them inside the wagon so there was no chance they’d get free. He had never considered leaving them alone outside like this. He glanced at the others, who were watching them with curiosity. Hank shifted uneasily on his feet, wishing he had a bottle of whiskey within reach. “Look, kid,” he finally said gruffly, “it’s not a good idea.”

“It won’t take long,” Connor insisted. He stayed in his spot on the other side of the water. Sumo sat there next to him. Hank couldn’t shake the feeling that the dog was taking Connor’s side. God dammit.

Hank stalked over to the gang and double-checked their bindings. Of course, they were perfect. Markus turned his dissimilar eyes up to Hank, but he didn’t say anything. Hank refused to look away.

“Sumo,” he finally commanded, “get over here.”

The big dog barked, bounding down into the shallow river to join Hank at the campsite. He shook himself dry furiously and then sat down on his haunches and let out a woof of solidarity.

“Watch them,” Hank commanded. “I’ll be back soon.” Sumo flopped down and put his head down on his paws, looking up at Hank woefully. “It’s an important job, boy,” Hank said with complete seriousness. Sumo let out a little whine, but otherwise stayed put, his sad dark eyes moving between the gang and Hank.

When he looked up at Connor, he had the audacity to look surprised.

“The hell you lookin’ at,” Hank called out.

“Nothing,” Connor said with an innocent shrug. “I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

Yeah, me fuckin’ either, Hank kept this thought to himself. He found Connor annoyingly persuasive.

“All four of you better be here when I get back,” Hank warned the gang.

North began to say something, but Josh interrupted her, “I’m just looking forward to a delicious fish dinner.”

Sumo’s tail wagged. Hank’s stomach growled. He agreed, “This better not take long.”

As Hank began making his way across the campsite, towards the river, Connor said, “Hank, you should grab your jacket.”

It was a warm day, and Hank had shed his coat earlier, just like Connor had. “What the hell,” Hank grumbled, yet he grabbed it all the same.

“And the matches,” Connor added.

“So help me god, Connor, I’m not going in some dark cave if that’s what you found - “

“Please get the matches, Hank,” he said patiently.

“Fucking fine.” Hank popped the box in this pocket and made his way across the river to Connor.

 

~

 

The woods were empty and serene and streaked with sunshine. In the light were swirls of pollen and gnats, the forest floor soft with leaves and spring grass. The trees weren’t thick here, and as Hank followed Connor through the grove, they moved around a handful of fallen logs, at various stages of decay. Hank wondered who the last person was that had passed through this place. It was so peaceful, Hank almost began to believe he was dreaming.

He really began to wonder when Connor suddenly stopped, throwing his arm out to keep Hank from walking past him. The buzz of insects had grown louder, the air filled with droning energy. Connor lifted his arm and pointed just ahead, through the clearing, to an uprooted tree on the ground a good twenty paces away. It looked as though it had been there for some time; yet its roots were still half-attached to the dirt, its branches flowering and growing. This was the opposite of some deep dark cold cave. The tree was still living, not dead at all, and at apex of the tree trunk and one of its branches was a swarming beehive.

Hank shook his head. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, kid, your crazy ass is gonna get stung to hell and back if you go anywhere near that thing.”

“I’ve done it before,” Connor said. “I won’t be hurt.”

“Before, when?” Hank’s protest turned on its head into a gripping curiosity, waiting with bated breath for some little nugget of information about Connor’s mysterious past.

“When I was actually a kid,” he said mildly. “Now, hand me the matches.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Hank grumbled as he reached into his pants pocket. “No need to impress me.”

Connor’s little smile was infuriating. “Noted, Hank.” He accepted the matchbox and stepped back. “You should put on your jacket.”

Connor then moved across the clearing, but off to the side instead of towards the fallen tree. Hank saw a quite-deliberate pile of sticks and branches there. Connor must have collected these before, when he was out here alone. Hank’s eyes followed the young man as he picked his way back across the grove with the armful of wood, and crouched down near the beehive to build a fire.

It was one of Connor’s best skills, the way he carefully and meticulously settled the logs, knowing how to either whip up a fast flashing fire when they stopped on the side of the trail, or one that was slow and long-burning, an overnight campfire, a campfire they would sit around for hours. This particular one flared up quick and crackling, and Hank watched as Connor added green twigs and leaves, feeding the flames until they billowed out waves of thick smoke. It wasn’t as powerful as a signal fire, but Connor had built it in the perfect place. The breeze carried the thick cloud just enough towards the beehive that it became enveloped in smoke. Hank could barely see the hive itself, though he heard their droning song. Connor stoked the fire, watching and waiting as he crouched by the fallen tree.

The buzzing swarm began to slow and settle, though a handful of bees had come to investigate Connor, circling his head like a halo. They, too, fell victim to the effects of the smoke, and descended to rest on Connor’s hair and shirt. He paid them no mind. His hands worked tirelessly over the wood, letting the smoke churn out steadily until, suddenly, for reasons Hank couldn’t identify, Connor began tamping down the flames. He calmed the fire until they could once again see through the fog. The bees were lethargic, some settled around their home, others still moving sleepily in the air, and it was then that he stood.

“Connor,” Hank said, though he wasn’t sure why, and the other man stepped forward, through the cloud he had created, through the murmuring bees, until he was next to the beehive.

Hank watched the insects crawl up Connor’s shirtsleeves, his collar and his throat - and then across his pale jaw, across his freckles, across his cheekbones. They explored his bare forearms and the backs of his deft hands, as he reached for his knife and crouched down in front of the hive. Connor was painstakingly gentle as he carved off a small sliver of dripping honeycomb right from the bottom. He didn’t face the creatures with fear or anger or a desire for control. He bowed his head to them after he had finished with the hive, murmuring something Hank couldn’t hear, and then Connor turned to face him. He held the golden honeycomb in his palm like a piece of priceless treasure. The sunlight dribbled down through the leaves around them, casting Connor in an almost ethereal light, and Hank, finally, with his hands shaking, put his jacket on.

Connor moved slowly back towards him, and Hank met him halfway. The sun was behind him, the bees resting quietly on his skin, his hands filled with gleaming honeycomb, and he looked at Hank and smiled as he approached.

“Connor, what the hell,” Hank said weakly. Connor’s expression was pleased, his face a little pink from the sun and the smoke.

“You did say I’d catch more with honey,” he said in a teasing voice, and Hank threw his head back and laughed.

“Kid, you are so fucking literal.” Connor’s smile widened as they stood together. A few of the bees moved around them, sleepy and wondering. Hank had never enjoyed getting stung, but he wasn’t afraid, not this time. Connor clearly wasn’t either. Hank watched one of the little bugs explore the line of Connor’s face, crawling across his jaw and up his temple, yet the young man was unbothered, that serene smile still on his face.

Connor lifted his hands in offering, and Hank accepted, breaking off a small piece of the bees’ creation and bringing it to his mouth.

“I love them,” Connor said as Hank tasted the impossibly sweet, life-affirming honey. He had never eaten it like this - cut straight from the hive, the bees quiet and accepting, like they were allowing the two of them to partake in this moment. He had never stood in the woods with someone in the afternoon sun, a someone who could tame a swarm of insects with the gentlest of hands. He had never eaten honeycomb plucked from another man’s palm. It was a dreamlike feeling, a heavenly feeling. Hank wasn’t entirely sure he was still on this earth.

He found himself looking at Connor, and Connor looked back at him, his eyes thoughtful and warm like always. Hank’s face felt hot, his stomach fluttery.

“You can have more,” Connor said. “This is just for us.” He smiled again, that little private smile, and Hank exhaled.

“Thanks, kid,” he murmured as he broke off another piece. Connor turned his one hand over the other, laughing as the sweet nectar dripped over his knuckles, and then he lifted his hand to his mouth. His mouth opened, barely hesitating before he licked up the side of his fingers, sucking the honey off of them. The syrup dripped down his chin and off his lips, making him laugh, making the bee on his face flutter away. Hank was pretty sure time had stopped somehow as he watched Connor’s fingers disappear between his lips.

Hank was sure that the smoke had affected him too, that the bees were now drawing away his energy, becoming more lively as Hank retreated into a daze. He had not felt like this in years. The air was electric with joy as the bees came to their senses, and their buzzing grew more insistent as they began teeming around the hive again, investigating the two men who had visited their clearing.

Connor wiped his hands on his handkerchief, his grin having softened into a wistful look towards the beehive. “They’re incredible.”

“Yeah,” Hank managed to say, still looking at him. He spoke haltingly, stumbling over his words. “It’s nice to see something so alive.”

They walked back towards the river in silence, and Hank could still taste the honey on his lips.

 

~

 

There were still hours of sunlight left when they returned to camp. Sumo had done his job well, if a little unconventionally. As they crossed back over the water and got closer Hank could see his dog was asleep, with his head in Josh’s lap.

“Some guard dog, eh?” Hank said as they approached. The peculiar spell of the forest had broken, but Hank could feel a strange, nervous, uncontrollable laughter bubbling up from within him - some release of tension, something to cut through the charge in the air that he and Connor had brought back to their campsite. He watched Connor from the corner of his eye as the other man crouched at the river, washing his hands, before rising to face them again.

“You look like the cat who swallowed the canary,” North called out to him. “What’s your secret?”

“If I shared, it wouldn’t be a secret,” Connor said matter of factly.

“How boring.” She turned her broad grin up to Hank. “And _you_ , sir - “

“Time’s a wasting,” Hank declared, cutting her off and for some reason looking to Markus for support, who, blessedly, gave it.

“I’m sure we’re all quite famished,” the man with the two souls and an extremely understanding expression said.

“This is a good time of day for fishing,” Simon agreed. Sumo had yet to rise from his place on Josh, but the tall man seemed not to mind. Hank wondered if they had simply all sat here waiting, if they had attempted to escape, if they had discussed some type of plan to overcome him. Yet they looked calm and accepting as always. Even North looked relaxed.

“Why don’t we eat a bit before we begin,” Connor offered kindly. “There’s still some dried apricots in the wagon.”

As Connor puttered around with the gang and checked on the animals, Hank gathered their things and moved their stools to the edge of the river. He settled down with his bottle and his pipe, casting his line out while Connor was still tending to the camp. It seemed to take an eternity for Connor to finally join him, but eventually he did, and they fished next to each other at the water’s edge.

Hank wasn’t about to sit in uncomfortable silence. He was too old for that shit. He held the fishing pole in one hand, took a long swallow from the whiskey in the other, and said casually, “You’re pretty fuckin’ out of your mind, you know that?”

Connor shrugged one shoulder up, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “I just do what I know how to do.”

“You know how to do a lot.”

“So do you.”

“I don’t know much, but what I do, I know well,” Hank said, shaking his head. “And I’ve got double the years on you. The only thing you can’t do is make a decent cup of fuckin’ coffee.”

Connor laughed, a sound that always took Hank by surprise, for some reason. “Well, it has only been about two months since we became partners. Maybe I’m a slow learner.”

“Two months is no time at all,” Hank said agreeably. “I need a little more time than that.”

“So do I,” Connor said, glancing at Hank as he spoke. “Maybe I need another twenty five years.”

Hank chuckled. “It may just take that long. God help me, I’ll be _alive_ in twenty five years.”

“I would say the same about myself, but I don’t believe in God.”

“Well, I’ll be damned Connor, you sure know how to lighten up the fuckin’ mood.”

“I would ask you to teach me how to do that too,” he teased, “but I don’t think you’ve learned yet either.”

“Eh, one lesson at a time,” Hank said jovially. “Let’s worry about the coffee first.”

Connor bowed his head slightly, smiling as his hair flopped into his face and he looked at Hank. “You can teach me other things too, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure I can,” Hank said, glancing away, their laughter quieting. For a moment he nearly lost the grip on his fishing pole, though he quickly recovered, clearing his throat. It was distracting, the way it seemed like the sun’s rays were shining out of Connor, particularly. Like he had eaten up a little bit of sunlight along with the honeycomb, back in the woods. Hank wasn’t entirely sure they hadn’t.

He kept his eyes glued towards the river, pushing down his constant desire to interrogate Connor, instead giving himself over to the quiet, to this moment of companionable silence. Hank wouldn’t mind if things stayed like this. At least for the rest of the trip. Maybe for another twenty five years. Hank was an uncomplicated man; he was content with his wagon, his contracts, his dog and his whiskey. He had lost too much to let himself care about much more than that. It was a heavy load to a hitch to a young man like Connor. Wherever past he had come from, a man like that was meant for better things than just -  this simple shit.

But for now, this shit was it. And as Hank sat next to his partner, the sun glowing around them, he wondered if it really was that simple, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Alaska - Maggie Rogers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNWsW6c6t8g)
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> Happy Valentine's Day :)


	10. i'm a dead man walking here, that's the least of all my fears

* * *

Things were remarkably quiet between them as Gavin and Nine continued along the canyon trail, getting closer to its end. The sun disappeared behind the mountains, but Gavin didn’t stop the horses, making them all continue down the river. The sooner they got to open land, the sooner they could lose Perkins, who Gavin was sure was on their ass.

“Reed, we need to make camp,” Nine finally called out from his saddle, breaking the long silence.

“No,” Gavin snapped. “We need to keep going.”

“We have not made a real stop in almost two days.”

“Neither has Perkins, I bet.”

“I am sure he has,” Nine said.

Gavin stared at the back of his head. Nine rode ahead of him, ropes connecting the man and his horse to Gavin. He was annoyed Nine wouldn’t turn around and look at him; that he wouldn’t meet his eyes for a real conversation. Gavin felt like _he_ was the one who was getting led down the trail. He eased Apple forward and tightened the ropes, riding up next to Nine. He knew their horses were tired, but he figured he could push them a little bit longer. He patted Apple’s side, feeling her heavy breaths.

“Look, asshole, _we_ don’t need to rest. I’ll stop when the horses want to.”

“They want to.”

Infuriated, Gavin glared at Nine’s impassive covered face and barked, “I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion.”

“There is no need to ask, I will give it willingly.”

“Anything else you want to get off of your fuckin’ chest?” Gavin pulled on the rope around Nine’s neck, and he leaned to the side to accommodate it, already anticipating the action. Prick.

Still, he finally glanced over at Gavin, his eyes sharp. “You need to shave.”

Gavin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, or the hand that came up to rub across his beard, longer than usual. “You sound like - fuckin’ Tina,” he muttered lamely. “I don’t have time for that shit right now.”

“You have plenty of time to drink and smoke, though, it seems.”

“God dammit, when the fuck did you become so uptight?” Gavin groaned. “You must have gotten a huge stick up your ass when you fell off that horse.”

“When the _fuck_ did you become so predictable?” Nine said, barely raising his voice, but Gavin nearly flinched at that word in his mouth. He hadn’t realized that Nine barely cursed until he actually did it.

“Calm down, Jesus Christ - and I did not, by the fucking way.” Gavin began to roll a cigarette, keeping an eye on Nine, remembering what he looked like when Perkins had pulled his bandana off. “I could say the same to you, you’re on your way back to your old self under there.”

“Yes,” Nine said, and Gavin swore that the man was smiling, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“What the hell are you scheming?” Gavin demanded. Though most of Nine’s face was covered, his eyes were undeniably mischievous.

“Forgive me, I forgot you were so obtuse,” Nine said. “I need to shave, as well.”

“Good luck with that, asshole,” Gavin laughed as he tugged on the rope again.

“I could say the same to you, considering you’ll be the one who does it.”

“What the - ? Fuck no, I won’t.” Gavin bristled at the suggestion, puffing furiously on his cigarette. There was no chance he’d put his hands on Nine like that.

“Suit yourself, it’s not as if I can do it alone,” Nine said, turning back to look at the trail ahead. “Soon I’ll look just like those posters again. Fortunately for you, you are not so easily recognizable. Unless Perkins tells them about your scar.”

Gavin self-consciously reached up and touched the bridge of his nose. It was an old mark, from what felt like a lifetime ago, but still always there, a reminder.

“Maybe you should be the one in the bandana,” Nine continued.

“Fuck you,” Gavin finally snapped, his face hot and skin burning. “You sure have a lot to say for a man I could use as target practice if I felt so inclined. Maybe I should just cut your tongue out so you can stop talking so much shit and leave me the fuck alone.”

“Eloquently stated,” Nine said, though he fell silent after that, like he actually believed Gavin might do it.

They made camp that night.

 

~

 

It felt like years before they finally reached the end of their trail along the river, but it only took a week or so until they finally burst out into the wide land of Utah. The canyon opened up into rolling, reddish hills, full of bristly shrubs and trees, studded with rocks of varying formations, everything jutting oddly from the earth like it had been scattered there by accident. Free from the confines of the canyon, they had an almost endless options of routes ahead - the main trail which kept going directly south, which Perkins almost certainly expected Gavin to go down; the path to Moab that Gavin had claimed they were taking; and the trail that led southeast down through Colorado, the trail Gavin had planned on using, at least up until this moment. And more, if Gavin was the type of man to give up, or take pity on Nine. Which he wasn’t.

Gavin had traveled all through this area so many times in his life, but all the landscapes and valleys and mountain peaks blended in his memory, and only now, looking out over the plains in the morning light, did he realize that there was another trail, right there for them to take, a trail Gavin had not considered until this moment.

Gavin raised his hand, a cigarette between his fingers, and pointed due east. “We’ll cross this way.”

Nine’s eyes were unreadable then, the way they followed the line of Gavin’s arm, out across the countless miles ahead of them. Gavin wasn’t sure if Nine recognized this place, if he knew where Gavin wanted to go, or if he even cared.

“My apologies,” Nine finally said when he caught Gavin’s glare towards him. “Were you waiting for my opinion?”

“Eat shit,” Gavin groaned, though still feeling that familiar little rush of pride at the idea of taking Nine by surprise. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

When they stopped that evening, having crossed a decent amount of distance from the canyon, Gavin tied Nine to a protruding rock and set up his tent a few feet away. It was a good place to stop, with a good view, and a creek nearby. The nights were cold, the temperature dropping severely out in the open air, but Gavin didn’t want to build a fire. If Perkins was following them as suspected, a burning light in the darkness of the hills would be a dead giveaway. He needed more time, to get further east, away from where everyone expected him to go.

As Gavin settled down in his tent, wrapped in blankets and cradling his bottle, the bound man called out to him.

“If we are to be heading this way, I must insist you consider my suggestion.”

“It’s not that fucking serious,” Gavin grumbled. He stuck his head out of the tent opening and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Even though Nine’s face was bare, his bandana removed, his expression was as inscrutable as ever. Sometimes Gavin felt like he was getting to know Nine’s thoughts and moods, but the man was still a deadly mystery to him. With his legs stretched out in the dirt, flexing his mostly-healed foot, Nine looked almost comfortable despite the ropes around his chest. He leaned against the rock like his freedom wasn’t compromised in the slightest, like it wasn’t cold as shit out here. The fucker was immune to just about everything, it seemed. Gavin reached for his tobacco, lost in thought. He wondered how Nine had gotten this way, what had happened to him deep in the past; not that Gavin would ever say it aloud, like some weird compliment, but he could still wonder.

“It will be as soon as I am recognized,” Nine said. He sat against the rock like it was his throne. Gavin, meanwhile, laid on the ground with his elbows in the dirt as he rolled a cigarette.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re just waiting for that,” Gavin muttered as he licked the paper closed and lit it. He shifted his tone, feeling haughty, “You know you can’t overtake me. You need someone else to do it for you.”

Nine gave him a withering look. “That’s an interesting thing for _you_ to say, Reed.”

“Fucking spare me,” Gavin said, annoyed at the comparison. “I could just as easily bring your dead body to Plainview.”

Nine moved against his ropes slightly, his voice questioning, “So you still plan on bringing me to Texas.”

“Where else would I see you hang?” Gavin paused momentarily, catching Nine’s eye in the darkness. He was put off by something. Gavin was unable to tire of the feeling of catching him unbalanced.

“Based on our change of course, I imagined that you became unwilling to make the long trip, and were now taking me to Red Rock.”

“Why the fuck would I take you to Red Rock?” Gavin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Gavin had spent nearly half a decade trying to take Nine to Plainview. Gavin knew Red Rock had its claim to Nine - he had killed robbed and three men and strung them up at the town limits, like some kind of warning - but that wasn't where Gavin had taken on this warrant.

“They are offering twelve thousand dollars there for my capture,” Nine said. “Dodge City, ten thousand, Albuquerque, ten thousand - “

“I don’t give a shit.” Gavin watched his smoke disappear up into the stars. “We’re not going to those places. We’re going to Plainview.”

“I have to say, I do not see the difference.”

“There’s a big fucking difference,” Gavin said. “It’s not about the money. It’s about where you just about robbed a whole family for just about everything they had, stole their fortune, burnt their house. Took their lives, put them all out on fuckin’ display for everyone to see. That’s a pretty good god damned reason.”

“What connection do you have to them?” Nine asked sharply.

“I don’t have one,” Gavin snapped right back.

“So even though the reward is less and the journey is farther,” Nine said, like he just couldn’t make sense of it, “you are still taking me to Plainview.”

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking said,” Gavin said in exasperation. “Jesus, you’re the obtuse one sometimes. I told you, asshole, it’s not about the money.”

“What is it about, then?” Nine’s condescending air of before was gone. He didn’t even seem hostile. He looked curious, actually.

“Doing what I gotta go,” Gavin said after a moment. “I just gotta do what’s right. That’s it,” he finished in a huff.

Nine was still looking at him. Gavin just looked back, unwilling to bend, and finally Nine said, plain and simple, “Do you know why I killed that family?”

“I don’t care why,” Gavin lied. “I don’t need to know.”

“You need to know everything about me,” Nine said shortly, and Gavin wasn’t sure if he meant it as a threat, or as an observation about Gavin’s personality. “I will tell you. If you’d like.”

“Fine.” Gavin leaned back on the blanket and began to roll another cigarette. In actuality, the offer of the truth had left him reeling. The Kamski’s wealth from oil and politics was well known. The idea that the RK brothers, at such a young age, had snuffed them out and taken off with such riches made them instantly notorious. He had heard all the rumors, all the stories, but he wanted to hear it from Nine’s mouth. “Tell me, then. What good reason is there to kill nine people?”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Nine said, “but haven’t you killed the same number?”

“No,” Gavin said, skin prickling, “not that many.”

“How many, then?”

Gavin shifted on his belly, pulling the whiskey towards him as he leaned out of the tent and said finally, reluctantly, “Eight, by my own hand. Not a whole  _family_ all at once. They were just fuckin’ pieces of shit who threatened my life. I wasn’t doing it just for a bit of fun. I didn’t have a choice.”

“And you believe that I did.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, “of course you did.”

There was a stretch of silence between them.

“Are you gonna tell me why you did it or not?” Gavin demanded.

For a moment, Gavin was sure that he had pushed too far. That Nine would turn away, closed off and silent; that Gavin would lose the opportunity for an answer, for something, for anything. Instead, Nine fixed him with moonlit eyes and said, “You claim those eight people threatened your life, and so your murder of them was justified.” He raised one shoulder in a slight shrug against the ropes, his voice plain and honest. “The Kamskis threatened the life of my brother and myself. So it appears you should fully understand my reasoning.”

He was leaning forward, studying Gavin’s face. “And for the record,” Nine continued, “we buried the Kamski’s fortune in Texas.”

“You did fucking what?” Gavin barked out before he could stop himself.

“It is as you said, Reed.” Nine settled back against the rock and closed his eyes, like he was just going to go to sleep without another thought. “It’s not about the money.”

“You - “ Gavin was nearly speechless, a tangle of questions stuck in his throat, feeling like he had dropped off the side of the canyon. He clenched his cigarette between his fingers, stuck in this strange moment where he suddenly didn’t understand shit. And Nine would not meet his eyes.

“You’ve always gotta have the last fuckin’ word, don’t you?” Gavin finally muttered as he smashed his cigarette out and disappeared back inside the tent, drinking until he fell asleep.

 

~

 

Gavin was usually a late riser. He preferred to stay up by the campfire and sleep long past sunrise, if given the chance. This particular morning he woke up at dawn, having tossed and turned most of the night, and when he crawled out of the tent, Nine was asleep, his chin dropped against his chest. It was still chilly, and Gavin pulled on his jacket as he got moving, a dull throb behind his eyes, too much whiskey and not enough coffee. Gavin surveyed the landscape as he rolled a cigarette. He saw no signs of any other travelers, no sounds, no smoke, no burning campfires. Perkins had probably taken the south-heading trail, Gavin thought smugly. That know-it-all fuck.

“Predictable, my ass,” Gavin said to Apple, who huffed in response.

As Gavin grabbed his things, he looked at the two horses. Sometimes it seemed like they had gotten used to each other; sometimes they snapped back and forth, trying to put the other in its place. Apple usually came out the winner, strangely enough. Gavin had thought she was poorly trained, but as the weeks had passed, she had proven to be tough and strong and steady, and oddly sweet to Gavin. She liked him. He wasn’t sure if he had done much to deserve it, but he had grown pretty fond of her, too.

He moved towards her and patted her neck. “Come on, little lady,” he muttered as he untied her lead from the shrub nearby. “Let’s take a bath.”

As Gavin got her situated, he found himself watching Nine’s horse, who watched him right back, his eyes just as black as his body. Gavin realized he didn’t know the animal’s name. He never heard Nine speak it, and he had never asked. He was a strange thing. His moods swung and shifted easily; sometimes playful and spirited, sometimes mean and aggressive, always protective of his owner. He had been better the last few days that Nine had been riding him, Gavin had to admit, and today he seemed particularly calm.

They regarded each other for a few minutes before Gavin crouched down and untied the other lead, and then the led the horses away from the camp towards the creek.

 

~

 

As the sun rose, Gavin washed each of the horses, sudsing them up one at a time. Both horses were surprisingly docile about it. Gavin tried to rinse them off, but eventually gave up and let them roll around in the creek free of their bridles and leads. He stripped off his own clothes and left them in a pile at the creek’s edge. The water was shallow and forced Gavin to take his time, scrubbing every inch of his body with his palms, watching the dirt and grime disappear. He wasn’t sure of the last day he had taken the time to do this. His hands wandered up his neck and across his face, and he sighed.

Nine was right about at least one thing. Gavin had to shave. He figured he was on his way to looking like a wild mountain man. It was usually something he avoided, especially in the summertime, but he hadn’t paid much attention to anything other than Nine recently, it seemed.

Gavin made his way out of the creek and then settled on a flat rock near the water with his razor and mirror. He only used it unless he was shaving, or examining some wound on his face, and he hadn’t done either in some time. Looking at himself now felt like looking at a stranger. He touched the bridge of his nose again, looking at the scar there under his fingertips. He was used to seeing the scars on his body - some fresh and some fading, old stab wounds and burns, a handful of recent cuts and bruises, and the worst one, where Nine’s bullet had gone into his side. It was strange, but even looking at that didn’t jar him as much as the one across his face.

He shook his head, pulling his mind back to the horses, who were still in a friendly mood as they danced around each other in the water downstream. Gavin kept his eye on them as he shaved and finished washing himself in the creek, and then, still naked, he sat back on the rock to smoke a cigarette. His free hand wandered down between his legs, just out of boredom more than anything else, but he had unusually little motivation to attend himself.

His thoughts drifted back to Nine, to what he had said the night before. _We buried the Kamski’s fortune in Texas._ Amongst all the rumors and all the myths about the RK brothers, this was the most unbelievable of all.

Still, though Gavin wasn’t sure why, he knew that Nine wasn’t lying.

He finished his cigarette with a frown on his face and then gathered his things, pulled his pants back on, and took the horses back to camp.

 

~

 

Only an hour or so had passed since Gavin had left, but Nine was already awake and waiting as if he had been up all night. His hands were clenched in the dirt as he watched Gavin and the horses come back over the hill, his face dark.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t steal your horse,” Gavin grunted as he tossed down his bag and the rest of his clothes by the tent, along with the leads. He wasn’t worried about them running off. He hitched his pants up around his hips, crouching down to rifle through his pack and find another shirt. He knew he had another one in here -

When he stood, Nine was watching him, eyes fixed on his bare chest, and Gavin knew he was looking at the thick scar across Gavin’s ribs, laid there by Nine’s own gun. He could have killed Gavin that day. He wondered if Nine regretted that he hadn’t.

“You shaved,” Nine finally said.

“Sure did,” Gavin said. His face felt oddly warm in the sun.

Nine shifted against his ropes and leaned his head back. His beard grew more slowly than Gavin’s, but it was beginning to lengthen and darken across his jaw, down his neck. He was right, that it would probably be wise to change his appearance, but Gavin still felt as though he was looking at a stranger. His pale skin had grown tan and freckled from the long days riding, his face already flushed from the rising heat of the morning. He did look like a different man, even now, with his hair hanging in his eyes, different from the man on the posters who Gavin had tracked endlessly, different from the clean shaven man who Gavin had bested in the woods of Idaho. They looked at each other for a long moment, like two predators facing each other down in the wilderness. Gavin was sure if Nine could break free, he would kill Gavin with his bare hands.

Gavin could have said a lot of things then. Instead he spoke the question he had been wondering all morning, “What’s your horse’s name?”

It turned out this was the wrong thing to ask. Nine grew incredibly still, even moreso than before, and his gunmetal eyes narrowed at Gavin, just as sharp and harsh as his voice as he demanded, “Why?”

“Why the fuck not?” Gavin said with a scowl. He looked at the two horses, clean and content, alternating between grazing on the brush and watching their humans. “I think I should know.”

“I see no reason for that.”

Gavin felt hot rage boiling down in his belly, threatening to erupt and poison the air around them, and before he could stop himself he crossed the distance between them and crouched over Nine, straddling his legs and taking his throat in one hand.

“I could kill you right now,” Gavin growled. The weeks of arguments and insults and anxiety had coiled up inside Gavin, and threatened now to snap in the most violent of ways. Nine was so combative, so frustrating, and he pushed Gavin to the limits of his patience, tempting him to do something incredibly stupid. His fingers flexed over Nine’s neck, feeling him breathe, feeling him swallow hard as he looked up at Gavin. He watched splotches of angry red blush appear on Nine’s face, on his chest where his dirty shirt collar had opened. Nine’s skin grew hot under Gavin’s palm as they looked at each other.

Nine did not look away. “Then just do it,” he said, practically a command.

How easy it would be, to overtake Nine, to kill him before the other man had the chance to do the same to Gavin. Gavin’s knees were on either side of Nine’s legs, pinning him down into the dirt. His free hand had come to grip at the ropes around Nine’s chest. Gavin’s hand twitched around Nine’s throat. It could be over in minutes.

Gavin dropped his hand down and sat there for a second. Nine closed his eyes.

“You’re worth more to me alive,” Gavin muttered as he stood, hasty and awkward. It was strange being so close to him.

He opened his eyes, and Nine said, voice clear, “My horse’s name is Reed.”

Still standing over him, Gavin regretted for a second his choice to spare Nine’s life as he gaped down in shock at his words.

“Your horse’s name is _what?_ ”

“I didn’t know we would eventually be traveling together at the time,” Nine said. “It seemed appropriate given his personality.”

“You are so - fucking - “ Gavin struggled to get the words out, a wave of confusion and anger and something like embarrassment flushing down over him. “What the fuck, Nine? You didn’t think that was a fucking bizarre thing to do?” He tore his eyes away to look at the horse, sleek and strong and unpredictable. If anything, Nine should have named the horse after himself.

“You have to admit,” Nine said, his neck and chest steadily reddening despite the calmness of his voice,  “you are very similar.”

“Fuck you, Nine,” Gavin spat, voice shaking. “Just - fuck you.”

He resisted the urge to kick him and instead stalked back to his tobacco and his whiskey bottle. They had wasted enough hours this morning and needed to get moving. But Gavin was too wound up to do that. He rolled and smoked two cigarettes in succession next to the tent, keeping his back to the man tied to the rock, listening to the horses’ nickering nearby.

Gavin’s mind was racing. Why the hell would Nine do something like that? This had to be another mind game, another trick, another plan to throw Gavin off balance somehow. He wondered if Nine beat his horse, if he took his anger out on the animal, if that was why Nine had named him after a man who intended to have him hanged. Yet Gavin saw no evidence to that; in fact, he was sure it was the opposite, that Nine cared for his horse and drew comfort from his presence. Gavin could make no sense of it. He could not begin to understand why.

Once he had sufficiently dulled the panic in his chest, Gavin steeled his nerve and began breaking down their camp, haphazardly throwing his things together and saddling up the horses. He flung his pack over Nine’s horse, the black stallion who shared his name watching Gavin with an imperceptible expression. Gavin refused to speak the word aloud. Reed. What the fuck. This morning had been too fucking weird, like a dream, or a nightmare.

He finally moved back towards Nine and began the process of untying him from the rock, making sure he had his loaded gun holstered to his hip before getting close. Gavin had pulled his shirt back on, still feeling overly hot and prickly in the sun, and the feeling grew worse as Nine just sat there unmoving, unspeaking. Gavin rewrapped the ropes around Nine’s arms, around and around and around up his wrists and forearms, binding them together. He tied the bandana back around Nine’s face, covering his growing beard, and placed his black hat back on the man’s head. He looked like he had back in the saloon, a stranger to even Gavin.

He looped his longer rope around Nine’s neck and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. They stood and faced each other, nearly as close as when Gavin had put his hand on his neck.

“Your little joyrides are over,” Gavin muttered, his ears warm, his veins thrumming. He stepped away and mounted Apple, leaving Nine standing there in the dirt, instead of helping him onto his horse as he had been since the Bullpen. “We got ahead enough. You’re back to walking.” And then it spilled out, as Gavin stared down at him, “We’re not going to Red Rock. We’re not going to Plainview just yet, either. We’re going to the cliff where your brother died. I want to see it for myself.”

Nine physically reeled back as if Gavin had spit on him. It was satisfying, really, to offend him, to shock him, just like he had done to Gavin. It had been Nine’s turn to hear something he wasn’t prepared for. And Gavin waited, there, for something, for a reaction, for an outburst, for Nine to curse at him or argue or scream. But despite the flush across his cheeks and the sudden redness of his eyes, Nine did not speak. He did not shout. He simply turned and began to walk.

And so as they continued towards Colorado, Nine leading the way, Gavin wondered what the fuck he had gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExAM8D7cfbI)


	11. memory is a fickle siren song

The woods were quiet. Hank made his way through the trees with little purpose, just enjoying the warmth of the sun, enjoying the solitude. He was vaguely aware that their camp was back somewhere behind him, but he didn’t think about how far he was walking or where he was going, or where anybody else was. Were they in the woods too?

His question was answered as he broke out into the clearing, and with a wave of emotion he couldn’t identify, Hank realized this was where Connor’s beehive was, where they had stood and shared a piece of honeycomb in the sunlight. Today the beehive was gone, and instead resting on the still-alive fallen log was someone Hank certainly wasn’t expecting to see, and yet, he knew this was the reason he was here.

“Son,” Hank said as he came closer, and Cole looked up and smiled at him.

“Hi Dad,” he said brightly. He was writing in a journal - Connor’s journal, actually, Hank recognized - but closed it and put it to the side next to him. “Wanna sit with me?”

“Of course,” Hank said. He crossed the empty grove and settled himself on the tree next to his son. He looked just the same as the last time Hank had seen him. So many years had passed. Why did he still look the same?

“Are you happy, Dad?” Cole asked innocently as they sat together. His legs dangled off of the tree, his bare feet kicking back and forth. Hank looked down at his own legs. He was barefoot too.

“I am now,” Hank said.

Cole placed his little hand over Hank’s rough, scarred, wrinkled one, and did not look away. “You can come with me.”

“Where?” Hank turned his hand over so his son’s palm was encased in his own. He felt so warm, so real, and then Hank stared, really stared, at Cole’s face. It was strange, but it was almost like he was looking at a reflection of the boy, like he was watching him from underwater.

Cole pointed further into the woods, but Hank couldn’t find the words to answer. He didn’t move.

“Don’t you want to stay with me?” Cole asked.

“I sure do, son,” he muttered, remembering, suddenly, where he was, and who he was, “but I have to go back to camp.” He clutched at his son’s hand. “Want to see it?”

“I can’t, Dad,” Cole said plainly. “You have to go alone.”

Hank woke up in his dark tent with his dog snoring next to him. It was before dawn, the birds already waking and singing, the buzz of insects over the water grounding him, reminding him that they were still camping by the river and that he was awake, really awake. He opened and closed his fists, still feeling his son’s hand in his own.

Hank reached up to touch his face and realized it was wet with tears. When had he cried? He felt like he hadn’t cried in years.

He laid in his makeshift bed until he heard the unmistakable sound of Connor waking up. His tent was only a few feet away, and Hank could hear him crawl out and start his morning routine, humming quietly to himself. Any other day, Hank would have risen too, joining Connor at the campfire. But Hank couldn’t bring himself to move. He was sure if he left the tent now, he would take off into the woods, looking for his son. But it was only a dream, he told himself. It was just a dream.

“It’s okay, bud,” Hank muttered as Sumo whined and shifted next to him, his big head popping out from the blanket he shared with Hank. He rolled over and put his arm around his dog, pressing his face into his fur and listening to Connor bustling by the campfire. Hank could still remember the taste of honey, the dappled sunlight. Connor’s hands. God dammit, he made Hank feel like a fool sometimes. Hank really did wonder if there was anything he couldn’t do.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed or if he had dozed back off again, but suddenly he realized the camp was quiet, just as quiet as the woods in his dream. Hank sat up and looked out through the opening of his tent to see the beginnings of the sunrise streaking above them. Their campsite was empty, the dying coals of the fire reignited with some fresh logs, the coffee pot and cups laid out for Hank.

Connor was gone. For a moment, Hank felt a tight, familiar clenching in his chest, like maybe Connor had taken off, like he wasn’t coming back, like he had decided he was too good for this. But he shook it off, just like he had shaken off his son’s appearance in the depths of his mind. Connor wouldn’t leave like that. Hank was sure of it.

“Okay, you lazy oaf,” Hank grumbled as he tried to push Sumo awake. “Time to get up.”

 

~

 

The sky was still pink when Connor returned from downstream. Hank hadn’t done much, yet, still pulling himself from the throes of such a restless sleep, and he was sitting on his stool with his pipe and his coffee. Sumo had run off to check on Daisy and the oxen, touching noses with each of them in greeting before flopping down in the grass nearby the wagon, leaving Hank alone with his thoughts by the fire.

Sumo let out a quiet bark as Connor approached, and Hank turned to see him, carrying a basket overflowing with plants, his hair swept back from his face.

“Busy morning?” he said by way of greeting.

Connor grinned as he joined Hank by the fire. Despite his best efforts, a single curl of dark hair always seemed to flop down in the center of his forehead, and as he set the basket down he reached up and tried unsuccessfully to push it back into place. He seemed not to notice, though.

“Connor,” Hank said as he realized, “you didn’t shave.”

“Is it that obvious?” Connor quickly, anxiously, scrubbed one hand over his jaw. Indeed, there was only the barest hint of dark stubble across his face, but it wasn’t something Hank was used to seeing.

“You must’ve been in a real rush to get out there,” Hank said, gesturing to the basket at Connor’s feet, still taken aback by Connor’s sudden deviation from his routine.

His partner shrugged, a slight smile coming over his face. “I wanted to make breakfast.” He paused, then added, almost shyly, “I know we’re behind schedule, but I’d like to do something before we get back on the trail.”

“If you’re trying to grow a full beard before we go, I think we might be here for a while,” Hank said lightly. Connor’s laugh was full of surprise, and truly contagious.

“That is a lost cause,” Connor finally agreed, “luckily, this will only take an afternoon.”

Hank poured Connor a cup of coffee and nodded encouragingly. “So what are you scheming now, kid?”

“I want to do some washing,” Connor said, repeating what he had suggested when they first arrived here, “and I think we should let them bathe in the river.”

Hank followed his eyes towards the wagon where the gang was probably just waking up. Soon they would unlock the doors and take them out of their claustrophobic bedroom, binding them to the wagon wheels. Letting them out, giving them a bit of fresh air - it was something many in Hank’s profession didn’t do. In his years on the road, Hank often bent or broke the rules of his contracts, knowing there was nobody around to hold him accountable except himself.

Hypothetically, his partner should encourage him to stay professional, to hold the prisoners at a distance, to treat them more like cargo to be hauled than passengers on a journey. But Hank was beginning to see that Connor cared as little for their contract as he did. It was something they shared, something Hank wouldn’t admit that he respected.

“I think we should too, kid,” Hank finally, quietly agreed. When Connor smiled again, Hank had the wholly unexpected urge to reach out and squeeze his hand. Instead, he leaned down and looked at the basket in front of them. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

 

~

 

It turned out Connor’s choice to forage down the river was a good one. He had brought back bunches of watercress, some wild blackberries, and, most wonderful of all, a collection of duck eggs that Hank positively salivated over. Hank let Connor take charge of cooking, and pulled his attention away from his partner to the prisoners in the wagon.

“Rise and shine,” Hank announced as he threw open the doors and let the sunlight in. The gang was already awake, blinking as their eyes readjusted. “Everyone feelin’ alright?”

“Fit as a fucking fiddle,” North said as Hank began to take them out. She sniffed the air, then asked, surprised, “Is he cooking _eggs_?”

“Sure is,” Hank said, and the quartet visibly brightened at the news.

Simon elbowed Markus gently as Hank fussed with their ropes, saying, “You and Connor should exchange recipes.”

“Cooking an egg is no great achievement,” Markus said with a humble laugh.

“It is when you haven’t eaten eggs in months!” North said indignantly. “God damn, I think at this point I would eat that shit _raw_ , shell and all.”

“I’m with you, ma’am,” Hank said. “Luckily, we won’t have to resort to that just yet.” He stepped back, double checking that they were all strung together in their little line. He realized that his gun was across camp. If they had suddenly decided to run off, or to rush him, to overtake him, Hank had no immediate defense. He also realized that somewhere along the trail, that had pretty much stopped being a concern of his. He made a mental note to make sure he stayed armed. Just in case.

“Come on, kiddos.” Hank gripped Markus’ shoulder for a moment to begin steering them towards the fire. “Everyone want coffee?”

 

~

 

“Connor,” North declared, “this is the _best_ fucking meal you’ve made so far.”

“I concur,” Simon said. “It was delicious.”

It was mid-morning, the sun peeking out through the trees as they all sat around the campfire together, their bowls scraped entirely clean. Eating with the gang was always a little awkward. While Hank and Connor ate freely, the others, of course, had to stay bound together, their wrists tied, hands restrained. They had gotten used to it, though, and were able to eat fairly easily now, with their bowls balanced in their laps.

“Everything Connor makes is good, though,” Josh said hastily, making the young man laugh. “But this was particularly tasty.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.” Connor glanced at Hank, seeking his approval too, but he just shook his head.

“Can’t talk,” Hank grunted, much to everyone else’s amusement. “I’ll let you know when I come back to earth.”

Usually they never started their day so late, but Hank could sense that nobody was ready to move from around the campfire, including himself. He brewed another pot of coffee while the conversation continued. Markus took Simon’s suggestion, and he and Connor began a rapid-fire discussion about cooking techniques that Hank half-listened to as he refilled everyone’s cups.

“When I was camping in one place for a while,” Connor was saying, “we’d dig a hole and fill it with rocks, then start a fire on top.” Markus nodded, leaning forward, deeply engaged as he followed along. “Once the fire burns down, I would put whatever we had inside - some potatoes or squash, rabbits or birds. But the eggs, you would want to wrap the eggs in wet leaves before you put them inside - then, cover everything again, let it sit for several hours, the longer the better. The eggs will come out perfectly cooked.”

Hank smiled to himself. Connor sounded so pleased to share his knowledge, and Markus was just as receptive to hearing it, saying, “I have cooked whole eggs in the shell by the fire before, but they would always split and crack. I had never thought to wrap them.”

“Yes, you should try it,” Connor said excitedly.

“Unfortunately,” Markus said with a self-deprecating chuckle, “I don’t think I will have the opportunity.”

There was a beat of awkward silence then. Everyone had been listening, and Hank stilled with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, glancing between the two men. Of course Markus wouldn’t be able to try cooking any of Connor’s recipes himself. He would never be a free man again after they parted ways in Tucson. Well, that was a sobering thought. It made Hank want to start drinking.

“Maybe,” Connor said firmly, catching Hank’s eye, “maybe I’ll cook them like that next time.”

Hank cleared his throat, sensing everyone was waiting to hear his response. “Good idea, kid,” he finally said. “I’d like that, too.”

Connor beamed. “We’ll have to keep an eye out. It’s not easy to find them. I was lucky to find enough for everyone this morning.” Hank didn’t miss the look that passed between Markus and Connor, a shared nod, a tangible feeling of gratitude.

“I don’t think we’ve tired of eating fish yet, luckily,” Josh said amicably. He accepted Hank’s silent offer to refill his mug. The atmosphere was warm, friendly. Sumo was stretched out next to Josh, his head in the tall man’s lap, as it usually was when the gang was out and about.

“Wow,” North said dryly, “I haven’t been this spoiled since I was a little girl. Actually, probably not even then.” She tapped Markus’ foot with her own, nodding at him, “Did you eat this good back in Kansas?”

“Sometimes,” Markus said, a thoughtful little smile on his face. “I often cooked the same meals. You know how fastidious Carl is.”

Hank was surprised. Other than Connor, Markus was the most reticent to share his thoughts about his past. It was rare to hear him discuss it, and a complete shock to hear him mention a name.

“He can be adventurous, when he wants to,” Simon mused. “He certainly appreciated everything you did for him.”

“We all do,” Josh said. Hank wondered if they were still talking about cooking.

“Let us not dwell on the past,” Markus said after a moment. His brows were furrowed, the slight smile on his face having turned to a pensive, serious expression. He shifted in his seat on the ground, crossing his legs in front of him. “Thank you for breakfast, Connor.”

“You’re welcome,” Connor said. Hank could tell that he was bursting with questions, and yet he simply bowed his head and bit his tongue, and Hank decided to do the same. “I’ll clean up,” Connor offered as Hank began to rise.

“The hell you will,” Hank said, no real bite to his words. “You just cooked up a whole meal, kid. Let me do the god damn dishes this time. You just relax.”

“I don’t know if I’m capable of that,” Connor said, adding, “How about I set up our things by the water?”

“Sure, if you’d like,” Hank said as Connor leapt to his feet with a sudden burst of energy.

“Wait here,” he said to the gang, as if they had any other choice.

Markus turned his questioning eyes up to Hank, opening his mouth probably to ask what the hell was going on. And then, suddenly he laughed, his good mood returning. “You know,” Markus said, “I think we will just wait to be surprised.”

“That’s been my philosophy so far,” Hank agreed as he began cleaning up. He let the gang stay seated by the campfire, instead of tying them to the wagon as he usually would when he and Connor had to step more than a few feet away. North and Josh began a heated discussion about the worst food they’d ever eaten, and Simon leaned up against Markus, just listening. No harm in giving them a little bit of space, Hank figured, and as he moved to wash their bowls in the river, he caught Markus reaching out to cup Simon’s bound hands in his own.

 

~

 

“The water is a bit deeper downstream,” Connor said as they finally got moving. “I already put our things at the most ideal spot. They can bathe while we wash clothes. The weather should be hot through tomorrow, so our laundry will dry quickly and we can get back on the trail. Then we should do some fishing later as we are still some distance from the next outpost.” He finally took a breath and pointed at Sumo, who was leading the way next to the edge of the riverbank. “I would also like to wash Sumo.”

“He needs it,” Hank agreed, only a little annoyed at Connor’s typically meticulous planning. “As do they.”

“I resent that,” North called out from her place ahead of them.

“Oh, don’t act like this is the longest we’ve gone like this,” Josh said. “I think this is actually pretty good for us.”

“Well, I need to wash my fucking hair,” North complained. “Think that’s a possibility, my dear marshal?”

“Former marshal,” Markus corrected her.

“I daresay it is,” Hank said to her, nodding to Markus, though he tacked on, “I’m not fixing to untie your hands, so one of us will have to do it for you.”

“Is that really necessary?” Connor interjected, glancing at Hank and lowering his voice. “Shouldn’t she have some privacy?”

“She is perfectly fine,” North answered him sharply, adding in a more even voice, “I’m really not worried about a single one of you, to be entirely honest.”

“Well, alright,” Hank said, his face suddenly hot. He deliberately looked away from Connor, avoiding the expression on his face, mercifully spotting their belongings ahead down the river. He used that as an excuse to stride forward and join Sumo at the head of the group. He was sure his partner would follow after him, but instead he stayed behind the others.

Hank brushed it off and announced as they came to their things, gesturing to them all to pause, “Let’s take a moment to have a discussion here. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Markus said. He stopped in front of the others and bowed his head, encouraging Hank to continue.

Hank said, “Look, we probably shouldn’t be doing this right now. You all know we have to keep you restrained, let’s do this quickly so we can move on.”

“No need to explain,” Markus said. “That is more than enough.”

“Is that all?” North asked.

“Yep,” Hank said.

“So,” she said, lifting her long red matted braid up with both hands, “which one of you is prepared to deal with my hair?”

 

~

 

Hank wasn’t sure how he so easily lost track of time, these days. He was typically decent with his schedules, his routines. Nobody, including Fowler, liked to hire someone who couldn’t hit deadlines. And yet, as they undeniably wasted time by the river, Hank found he really didn’t give a shit.

“I must be getting old,” Hank said as he stared at North’s hair, freshly washed and brushed. It had taken ages to untangle the knots and nests, and eventually Hank had just placed his comb in her bound hands and then helped Connor with the washing until she was done.

“And what gave you that idea?” North said, turning around to look at Hank over her shoulder. “Speaking of that, may I brush your hair next?”

“Absolutely not,” Hank said, much to the others’ amusement. They all sat together on the riverbed in freshly washed, though damp, clothes; drying out in the sun, still tied together, with Hank crouched behind North. He was feeling a bit self conscious. He shook his hair out of his face, frowning. “I’ll probably cut it all off. It is far too hot out here.”

Connor coughed loudly, yet didn’t say anything, just finished up the laundry further downstream. Hank continued, “Anyway, I haven’t braided somebody’s hair in, hell, at least six or seven years now. If I’m being honest, I’d wager it’s more like ten.”

“You got a wife?” North asked mildly.

“Not anymore,” Hank said, even though it was clear she already guessed the answer.

“She died?”

“She left.” Hank cleared his throat and then gathered the woman’s hair in his hand. He could feel Connor looking at him, but he didn’t look back.

“North,” Markus said, voice almost a warning, but Hank brushed him off.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Let’s not dwell on the past,” he said, repeating Markus’ words from earlier. “Anyway, this might take me a while.”

Connor was able to finish the washing, as well as give Sumo a bath, before Hank was finally done. He had done this to Cheryl a few times, brushing her hair, braiding it down. They had laughed about what he would do if they had a daughter instead of a son, if he would be as protective as he was of Cole. How different things could be. He wouldn't ever really know, he supposed. Maybe this came a little bit close.

“It looks better than when I do it,” Josh said once Hank was done.

“Well I’ll be damned, I’ve still got it.” Hank tied the end of North’s braid and gave her shoulder a short, awkward pat. He remembered his dream, how that version of his son had told Hank that he was alone. And each time he did something like this - a small step towards kindness, pushing the boundaries, ignoring the rules - Hank became less and less sure that was the case.

 

~

 

Despite Connor’s planning, they all dawdled for far too long at the river’s edge, leaving Hank and Connor little time to fish before dark. Instead, Connor made some stew while Hank strung up their clothes to dry. The air was calm, the four passengers quiet at their place tied to the wagon. In strong contrast to their conversation over breakfast, a thoughtful silence continued through dinner, everyone seemingly lost in their own mind.

Once Hank and Connor had said goodnight to the gang, locking the doors of the wagon, they settled as usual by the campfire. For the first time that day, Hank opened his bottle of whiskey, taking a long drink before passing it to Connor, who took it much more enthusiastically than usual. Connor’s journal laid unopened in his lap as he turned his attention to the bottle instead.

Hank was deep in thought when Connor suddenly said, “I didn’t know you had a wife.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “I did.”

He looked at Connor and Connor looked right back, his face noticeably pink even in the evening shadows. He took another drink, holding the whiskey bottle in both hands. Hank watched the way Connor’s fingers skittered over the glass. He had been calmer with a swarm of bees surrounding him.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Connor asked, reminding Hank of the matter-of-fact, nearly petulant man he had first met back at Jimmy’s. There was more to Connor than that, he knew, yet his question still flared Hank’s temper. He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing snapping at Connor wouldn't help any.

“That’s a heavy question, kid,” Hank finally said. “And I could ask you exactly the same thing.”

“You don’t want to know about me,” Connor said.

“Sure I do,” Hank said. His mouth was dry. Connor looked troubled, like he was attempting to make a life-changing decision, though Hank was sure there was no way it was that serious. Hank steadied himself and reached out to touch Connor’s shoulder, just like he had done to North. This time his hand lingered there for a moment longer, long enough to feel Connor relax just-so under his hand. This was nothing like their easy, teasing conversations from days previous; this was something different, something more important.

“One of the first days we traveled together,” Hank said, “you told me you just needed to get out west.” He shrugged and removed his hand, taking the bottle from Connor so his fists dropped into his lap. “I figured maybe you’re running away from something, or you’re in search of gold. But you don’t seem like the type to do either of those things. Hell, knowing you, you could probably find gold on the side of this river here.”

Connor scoffed a little bit, stretching his fingers across his knees and picking at the fabric. Hank stayed quiet, and finally, with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, Connor said, “I’m looking for someone.”

“And who might that be?” Hank asked, adding as his stomach flipped oddly, “You got someone waiting for you?”

“Not a wife,” Connor said, casting a low gaze towards him. Hank hoped Connor couldn’t read his expression in the darkness. “My brother.”

“Is he looking for you too?” Hank asked. This was new information. Hank wondered what Connor’s brother was like. Connor had said he’d grown up traveling, that he couldn’t return to Michigan, that he’d been all over the country. Had his brother done the same? Was he anything like Connor? Hank couldn’t fathom _anyone_ like Connor.

“No,” Connor finally said, interrupting Hank’s thoughts. “I’m going to start in California but - I’m not even sure where to find him.”

“You will,” Hank said. He was sure of it. And yet in some deep down part of his mind he desperately hoped that Connor changed his mind and returned to Covington with Hank. But that was a stupid thought, now. They would probably part ways in Tucson when they dropped off the gang. And Hank would be alone, again. He took a long drink of whiskey, feeling it burn all the way down.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Hank heard himself say.

Connor abruptly stood, gripping his journal in one hand. “I’m gonna turn in,” he said in a clipped, strained voice. Hank had never seen him like this before. He thought about protesting, but kept his mouth shut. He knew sometimes you just had to figure it out by yourself.

“Night, Con,” Hank grunted as he began packing his pipe. “I’m gonna stay up for a while.”

Connor patted Sumo’s head and then turned off, but before he went into his tent, he hesitated and called out quietly, “You shouldn’t cut your hair. You look fine.”

Hank’s hand automatically went up to his ever-growing silver ponytail, but before he could open his mouth Connor disappeared into his tent. After a long moment, Hank lifted the whiskey back to his lips.

 _You look fine._ Hank was sure he was too old to be drinking over words like that. When the coals began to die down, he stumbled into his own tent and fell asleep to the sound of Connor’s steady breathing nearby, dreaming that he was on the California coast, looking at the ocean with his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [He Doesn't Know Why - Fleet Foxes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=brZTvGIzeGg)
> 
>  
> 
> *must share a personal anecdote*
> 
> I was hanging out with my sister the other day when she played DBH to the end for the first time and later on I told my boyfriend about it
> 
> Me: She finished playing and at the end got a scene we never did  
> BF: What was it  
> Me: Hank and Connor reunite outside the Chicken Feed and -  
> BF: *gasp* Did they fuck


	12. when god left the ground to circle the world

_Mr. Kamski,_

_I write to you with the news that I have captured the man responsible for the murder of your family and theft of your fortune. He will hang in Plainview as I promised. I hope to give you enough advance notice to travel for the occasion._

Gavin bit his lip and scribbled further,

_I have more information I would prefer to discuss in person._

_Gavin Reed_

After a handful of days crossing the plains into Colorado, Gavin had spotted a column of smoke a couple of miles ahead, coming shortly after to a signpost that directed them forward. The outpost was tiny, just a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but Gavin had steered towards it anyway, clutching his tobacco pouch and praying.

Luckily the old woman behind the counter had a decent spread of supplies. They didn’t have the tobacco Gavin liked, but they did have Nine’s preferred brand, oddly enough. Gavin had bought two pouches and some jerky before spotting the sign on the wall - _Letters Mailed Here, 10c Paper 10c Envelope 10c Stamp._

What a fucking racket, was what Gavin thought. But what he said was, “When does the post come through?”

“I’ll take it to Grand Junction on Sunday,” the woman had grunted. She had a hard, steely look to her, like she didn’t trust Gavin. Not that anyone should. He didn’t trust her either.

“Good,” he said, dropping thirty cents on the counter. “I have one I need to write.”

And so here he was, staring at his words to the man who Nine had wronged. Despite the loss of his family and fortune at a young age, Elijah Kamski had still succeeded and stayed a wealthy man. Gavin had sought him out once in person, during his travels when he first took on the warrant. _I’m going to get that bastard,_ Gavin had told him. Kamski had just smiled and said, _good luck._

Kamski lived in Nebraska now, in nearly complete solitude with little tie to his previous life in Texas. They hadn’t spoken in the years since Gavin had first tracked him down, not that Kamski was on the very short list of people that Gavin wanted to keep in touch with, anyway. He wrinkled his nose, thinking. Gavin was sure that Kamski would have plenty of time to get to Plainview. They had a couple of months of traveling left, but the sooner Gavin wrote to him, the better. It’d be faster to find a place to send a telegram, but Gavin was too paranoid to share information with a stranger. A letter would do just fine.

He sealed up his papers and wrote out the address he had memorized. It was a strange moment, one he had imagined many times. He wondered how Kamski would feel receiving the news, how he’d feel knowing justice would be served. It was as Gavin had said. It wasn’t about the money. But it wasn’t even about revenge. It was about closure.

Just as he placed the stamp on the envelope, the old woman said, “Where you taking him?”

Gavin followed her eyes out of the window and to where Nine stood outside by the horses, tied to a post just like they were. Tall, composed, in his dark clothes, in Gavin’s black hat and bandana. If that was all he was, he would look like just another man. But there was more to him, a list as long as the rope around his neck. His horse nuzzled at his bound hands, looking for some kind of attention that Nine could not physically give. Gavin tore his eyes away to look back at the woman.

“Moab,” he lied again, his mind suddenly too jumbled to think of a better answer.

She eyed him sharply. “You’re on a strange trail, then, son. Moab is back in the direction you came from.”

“Is it?” Gavin’s hand was sweaty as his fingers tapped on the tabletop, the letter inches away. “Never was too good with directions.”

“If I were you,” the woman said, plain and simple, “I’d just shoot him and be done with it.”

“What the - no, that’s not necessary,” Gavin said. “He’s easy,” he added, another lie.

“Easy, huh,” the woman said. She was looking out of the window again. “That’s a bit lucky, don’t you think.”

The possibility that the woman recognized Nine struck Gavin like a bolt from the heavens.

“I’ll be sure this gets in the mail for you,” she said, suddenly sickly sweet, and when she reached for the letter, Gavin found himself grabbing it instead.

“Think I’ll just post it myself,” he said as he stuffed the letter in his pocket.

Her eyes were narrow, her palm flattened on the wood. She didn’t move.

“I’ll be requiring my thirty cents back,” Gavin added.

At this, she drew her hand back, but it wasn’t to return Gavin’s payment; it was to point at the sign hanging above her head.

“Paper, envelope, stamp,” she said coldly. “The fuck you think you’ve got in your pocket, boy?”

The discomfort in the cabin had turned from unsettling to unbearable. Gavin was seeing red, pissed off and ready to argue, but sometimes even he knew when to bite his tongue.

He gave her a quick tip of his hat and turned off. He could feel her eyes on his back. His hand went to his waist, prepared to draw his gun if she did the same, but she said not another word as Gavin left the building.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Gavin said as he stalked back over to Apple and stuffed the letter deep in one of the pack bags. “I got a feeling Granny in there is planning to outlive me.”

Nine didn’t respond. He stepped away from his horse and took his place on the trail ahead.

 

~

 

Being in Colorado was so different from anywhere else they had traveled through so far. It looked different, it _smelled_ different, and once they had undeniably crossed the state line, it made Nine different, too.

The two men had said little to each other since their argument, and as they drew closer to the river, the silence grew deeper, burying all their previous spats and conversations. Gavin had been drinking less, trying to keep his wits about him even though it was damn near impossible sometimes. He was sure, though, that if he got too drunk he would lose himself to his temper, or worse, that Nine would take the opportunity to attack him.

Gavin had never seen the other man so tense. His jaw was always clenched; his veins were dark and visible on his forearms; he held himself like a trap waiting to spring, and it only grew worse as the days and the miles passed. When Gavin restrained him at night, Nine wouldn’t even look at him, staring straight ahead into the darkness until he finally closed his eyes. During the day, he just walked.

Despite Gavin’s efforts to focus, he found himself spending long hours on the trail just thinking about the things Nine had said and done, letting his frustration boil over until he would furiously smoke a cigarette and contemplate all the things he _could_ say to Nine. He thought about the fortune buried in Texas; he thought about the black horse that bore his name. When he laid in his tent at night, he felt like he was going crazy.

Hell, he probably already was. Gavin hardly ever planned much - instead he fixated on a target, and then he tracked it like a hound dog, singleminded to the point of near blindness at times. So, it stood to reason that that years of searching and discovering would have prepared him for this, that he would have been ready to head straight to Plainview and be done with this entire thing. And yet here he was, veering off to the east, just enough out of the way as to be questionable.

Gavin didn’t care if it made sense. He wanted to go, to see the place for himself. To see what Nine said and what he did. Gavin imagined Nine had gone there thousands of times, obsessively combing the area to reconstruct what had happened, to find some kind of sign _._ Maybe, he had. It had been five years since Nine's brother had died, but just over a year had passed before Gavin first saw his wanted poster. And in the years since, Gavin had rarely known him to pass through Colorado, and if he did, he certainly never came close to this area.

He finally brought it up one evening, unable to take the silence anymore. He had grown used to their constant bickering, and its disappearance made him uneasy, like maybe Nine was planning something. Or giving up. It was hard to tell.

“When was the last time you came through here?” Gavin asked as he tied Nine to a jutting rock for the night, his practiced hands passing the rope around and around.

He watched Nine’s hands curl into fists in the dirt, but the man said nothing.

“You always avoid Colorado like the fuckin’ plague,” Gavin continued, “so I’ve only passed through here a couple of times in recent years. Guess you would know.” Nine didn’t move or speak, his shoulders held tight as Gavin kept talking, filling the silence. “Never actually been to the cliff, though. I know men who did. Hoping to find some buried fuckin’ treasure, or - “

Suddenly Nine snapped his hand out, stretching against the ropes, and grabbed Gavin’s wrist with a iron grip.

“Please,” Nine said.

Gavin was stilled not only by Nine’s powerful grasp, but by the weakness in his voice. It was so brief and so unbelievable he was sure he imagined it. Gavin shook it off, placing his hand on the knife at his waist. “Let me fucking go.” He tried to make his words firm, but they came out like a stammer.

Nine stared at him and finally released his wrist, leaning back against the rock in acquiescence as the silence returned. Gavin finished tying him with shaking fingers and then retreated to his tent for the night.

 

~

 

Gavin remained on edge as they moved across the plains. Nine remained quiet. Even the horses seemed anxious at the discomfort that followed them towards the river.

After nearly a week Gavin sensed they were drawing close, and he was right. The cliff side he wanted was further north, further inside the border, but they were within a mile of the river as it flowed down and away back into Utah. A major trail rain along its edge, and Gavin elected to avoid it as they traveled. They were coming to an area of great canyons, but they would cross long before Grand Junction and keep heading south. Though he hadn’t been this way in some time, Gavin knew where they could easily cross the river. They would have to double back, not that it mattered. He wasn’t about to change his mind now.

They eventually made camp maybe two days ride away from the cliff, by Gavin’s reckoning. Gavin didn’t bother with his tent, just stretched out on his blanket under the clear sky. He was torn, as always, between keeping an eye on Nine, or keeping the hell away, and settled for something in between. It was a cold night, though, and Gavin piled himself in blankets as the horses stood close together nearby. Gavin was unsure if Nine was cold or not, not that he cared or would have done anything about it, but - still.

Nine was still tense, tracking Gavin’s every movement as he rolled a cigarette and then smoked it from his pile of blankets and furs, just a face and a hand. Gavin hit his bottle more frequently than he had in some days, feeling it run through his veins and warm his body. Nine’s mood had changed little. His expression always the same, even once his bandana came off at night. Gavin knew Nine was agitated - his iron grip on Gavin’s wrist had made that clear enough. It may as well have left a burn. He could still feel it.

It was strange. Gavin had spent so much time following Nine, looking for him, one step behind, enough to just miss seeing him in person. It made sense to him that he wanted to know more, wanted to know what the mysterious murderer was really like. He had had a few glimpses, in the couple of times he had fought Nine hand to hand, struggling on the ground, in the rain, in the desert.

After Nine had shot him, Gavin had vowed to recover out of pure spite, and months later had finally got back on the road and tracked Nine down across the west. He had ridden his horse nearly into the ground once he knew he was close. Gavin remembered coming over the top of a hill in Wyoming, and seeing Nine there on the opposite side of the gulley, the first time Gavin had seen him riding that black stallion. Nine had turned to look up at him, and then raised his arm up like a greeting before riding off. He was _right there,_ but Gavin lost him, again.

But only for a little while. He found him, as he always found him. And now, he had him. And he still didn’t understand him; why he did what he had done, why he acted so aloof now, why that one word, _please,_ had sounded so fragile and out of place, like he hadn’t said it at all. Who was he, really, and why?

Gavin's insatiable curiosity got the best of him, as usually seemed to happen.

“Your folks got an opinion about your choice of career?” he called out from his cave of blankets.

There was a long, long pause before Nine finally said into the darkness, “I quite thought you had taken a vow of silence.”

“Ha, that’ll be the day,” Gavin said, adding to the man he could barely see, “Could say the same to you.”

“As you must know, this region draws up many memories for me. I haven’t quite been in the mood for conversation.” It was a plain, honest statement. Nine seemed - he just seemed different _._ Gavin didn't have another word for it.

Gavin frowned and puffed on his cigarette. “Yeah, me too.” Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe Gavin just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but he added, “I was born here, you know. That’s one hell of a bad memory, that’s for sure. Maybe the worst. And I’ve got bad memories all over the country.”

Nine laughed, actually laughed, a sound Gavin wasn’t sure he had ever heard before. It was like seeing him grin, or hearing him curse. It sent Gavin flying through the air, entirely off balance.

“As do I,” he said, then added after a moment, “Fortunately their opinion is a memory I can now ignore."

“Their opinion?” Gavin realized he had barely heard Nine’s words.

“What you asked,” Nine said. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin said, clearing his throat and returning to himself. “They’re dead?”

Nine paused, then said, “Yes.”

“Makes it easy, then,” Gavin grunted. “To forget.”

“I must disagree. I find it quite difficult.” Gavin knew they would’ve never had this conversation in the sober light of day. “That being said, if my mother were still alive, she would be displeased I am in this situation.”

It was Gavin’s turn to laugh, then. “Yeah, my ma too, probably.” He added with a huff, “My pop, he’d be the proudest he’s ever been in his shit life.”

Gavin took a long sip of whiskey before Nine finally responded, “He was a bounty hunter.”

“He was indeed." It wasn’t like it was a secret, but he wondered how Nine knew, why he knew. “Still might be, who knows.” He paused, tossing his cigarette to begin rolling another with one eye open, trying to keep his focus in the dark. “All things considered, I thought I was the one asking the questions here.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“You think your mother would be proud she raised a criminal?” Gavin soldiered on.

“Yes, as proud as your father would be of you," Nine said, his words crisp and pointed and utterly mind boggling. "And she did it twice over."

Gavin gaped at him, remembering after a moment that Nine probably couldn’t see him in the dark, and feeling grateful for it. “What the fuck?"

“It seemed a simple answer,” Nine said in a voice that made it clear that he knew it was certainly not.

“You just said she’d be displeased at your situation,” Gavin said, bobbing his head back and forth as he imitated Nine's fussy formal way of speaking.

“She would be,” Nine agreed. “That I was captured.”

“Well, I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” Gavin said with a whistle. For lack of anything better, he added weakly, “Guess it really does run in the family, eh?”

"Could say the same to you," Nine said, his turn to repeat Gavin's words, lilting and sarcastic.

It was a lot to chew on, and Gavin’s head spun with more than whiskey as he considered what Nine said. It made sense, of course. And yet it didn’t really put to rest any of Gavin’s questions. Instead, it fed his curiosity even more.

“Was she a killer, too?” Gavin pressed.

There was a brief silence. “She was,” Nine finally said, “so much worse than that.”

Gavin turned into his bottle, his mouth full of words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Neither of them spoke again. Gavin finished his cigarette and laid back down under the stars.

 

~

 

The hours seemed to drag longer and longer as they made their way along the river, keeping their distance from the canyon itself. As they drew closer to the cliff, Gavin knew they were testing their luck in more ways than one. He knew they could run into another traveler at any time, ending their streak of relative solitude on the trail. Hell, that hardass grandmother could pop out from behind a rock and shoot Gavin dead, and he wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

And even more daunting, Gavin still wasn’t sure how Nine was going to react when they got there. If he would react violently, or react at all. If he’d become hysterical, or just retreat within himself even further. He had a dream that night that Nine walked to the edge of the cliff and stepped off. Gavin woke up at dawn grasping at a nonexistent rope, trying to catch his breath, studying Nine to make sure he was still really there. He would make sure that didn’t happen.

He packed up their bare little camp and saddled up the horses, avoiding the gaze of the black horse he refused to name aloud. Gavin had basically been ignoring the stallion as much as possible, and the horse clearly noticed. He vied for Gavin’s attention, bumping his nose into Gavin’s shoulder and huffing while Gavin packed up Apple. It wasn’t like the animal had chosen his own name, but all the same, it was - insulting.

“Fuckin’ stop,” Gavin muttered, shrugging the horse away. “Apple, tell your pal here to back off.” She just looked at him impatiently.

Gavin finally moved to untie Nine so they could get on the road. He made sure his head was clear, his eyes trained closely on Nine, watching for any change in his mood, but he stayed quiet, his shoulders and neck held tight, his jaw set, just as tense as before.

“We’ll be arriving by sundown,” Gavin said gruffly. He tied Nine’s wrists, then his neck, and stepped back. Nine looked down at him while Gavin pulled the bandana from his pocket, then leaned up to tie it around Nine’s face, just his eyes, always his eyes, looking at Gavin.

“When was the last time you were here?” Gavin asked again, impulsively, realizing he had never gotten an answer. His arms fell to his sides, then across his chest, waiting.

But Nine didn’t say anything to that, much to Gavin’s frustration; he turned and walked towards the horses, forcing Gavin to scramble for his rope as he followed behind. Fucking prick.

It was a hot, humid day, and Gavin was covered in sweat by noon, with Nine looking little better. His shirt clung to his body as he moved forward across the earth. Yet he didn’t speak or complain. Unfortunately the long day made space for Gavin to let his mind wander, or rather, let it fixate on conjuring up images of Nine’s mother, of his brother, and of his father too, though it seemed he hadn’t been in the picture. Lucky bastard, Gavin thought to himself.

As the hours passed and they drew closer to the cliff, Nine’s steps grew slower, his pace dragging, his feet heavy. His posture certainly didn’t help him; he stood even more rigid than usual, with his back and shoulders held perfectly frozen and still. Like a glacier. Gavin noticed, and he let himself get worked up about it, failing to calm himself even with a handful of cigarettes smoked in quick succession. Nine did not want to go. Gavin was glad. He wanted to badger him, to rile him up, to make him look upon that place and feel _something_.

It was true that Gavin had not visited the particular spot where Nine’s brother had fallen to his death, at least, not knowingly since it had happened. But he knew the river well, and the place was part of a tall tale, now, one of the stories people told around the campfire about outlaws and vigilantes and revenge. A man backed into a corner with nowhere to go; either jumped, or fell, or was pushed, based on who was telling it; always ending with his body in the Colorado River far below. It was a long fall, and the water washed away any trace of him. Some claimed that he lived; most knew it wasn’t possible. Gavin had always privately thought that the fact Nine was still alone was enough.

“Gettin’ close,” Gavin grunted out as the sun began to sink down in the sky. Gavin had steered them towards the path that ran along the canyon’s edge, and now they joined it, probably only a few miles from his destination. “Seem familiar yet?”

Nine didn’t answer, though Gavin wasn’t really surprised at that.

Gavin supposed he was just paying better attention, because he was the first one to stop, tapping Apple’s sides with his legs and drawing everyone’s ropes back. Nine stumbled to a stop, turning his face up to Gavin for the first time that day. They were a couple dozen feet from the edge, the canyons and valleys and cliffs all stretched out for miles and miles ahead of them. Grass stretched out from the plains to the very end of the dirt, where it dropped off abruptly to the water below. There was no signpost, no landmark; just the curve of the cliff as it jutted out over the wide rushing river, all the green trees in the valley beneath them, just as it would have been on that day five years ago.

“We’re here,” Gavin said.

“Yes,” Nine said stiffly, turning to face Gavin for the first time. “It seems we are.”

Though he had a better view from the saddle, Gavin dismounted and stood with one hand on Apple’s neck. Ahead of him, Nine stood unmoving, looking out to where the cliff ended.

Gavin wanted to say something, but found he just - couldn’t. He left the horses behind to gaze as he approached Nine, rope in hands, and nodded at him.

Nine didn’t really move, not at first. He surveyed the area, the cliff they stood on, as well as the landscape stretched out ahead of them, but said nothing. No shouting, no tears, no violence. No reaction. Gavin wasn’t sure what he expected, really.

“Think maybe we’ll camp here for the night?” Gavin said, an attempt at cruelty, even though he found the idea a little too morbid for his liking. Sleeping only a few feet away from where a man’s life ended. It wasn’t something Gavin exactly tried to make a habit of.

Nine ignored him and walked forward, closer to the edge. Gavin, remembering his dream, kept a tight grip on the rope in his hands as he followed a few paces after. Way off in the distance, miles away on the opposite side of the canyons, a storm was brewing under the sunset, thick red clouds rolling and occasionally flashing with the threat of lightning. They stood for a moment at the edge, watching it, watching the world. And then, Nine shrugged one shoulder up, pressing it against his cheek and dragging down.

“Hey, cut that shit out,” Gavin protested as Nine successfully pulled the bandana off and let it drop down around his neck, and anything else he would have said or done after that was silenced as Nine began to speak.

“I’ve never come here before, you know,” Nine said as he stared down into the river.

You’re lying, Gavin wanted to say, but he knew he wasn’t, and that he would have no reason to, and the knowledge of it made something strange and foreign curl in Gavin’s stomach as the realization rocked his mind.

“I always avoided Colorado, as you know,” Nine continued, his voice even. “I know many who searched for his body. I could have gone at any time to look for myself. Maybe I would have found him.”

“Nobody could’ve,” Gavin said, gruff and uncertain, then he said, “I didn’t know.”

“That I had never been here, just like you?” Nine said. He turned to look at Gavin, then, finally. His eyes weren’t their usual hard silver; they were softer, cloudy, full of emotion Gavin couldn’t even begin to decipher, as it was so unusual to see it displayed. He held himself strong and tall, as always, but the tension from the last fortnight had suddenly, somehow, disappeared.

“Is it all you hoped it would be?” Nine asked then, refusing to look away, challenging him.

Gavin reached for his tobacco, the first to back down, everything he wanted to say dying in his throat. He suddenly felt _bad_ for doing this, god dammit, and as he rolled a cigarette and looked over the terrain he found himself accessing that deep part of him that could not seem to keep quiet, a part of him that could not help but try to connect, “When I was a kid, my pop took me to see my mother’s grave. We traveled a lot, so - didn’t have much chance to stop before that. When he took me there, he told me to look at the tombstone and fuckin’ apologize, ‘cause it was my god damn fault she died.”

Nine did not look away, studying him, listening.

“Whether it was or wasn’t,” Gavin said, his face feeling hot, “I couldn’t change it or control it.” He lit the cigarette between his teeth, thinking, struggling. “Everyone should be punished for their own indiscretions. But rubbing your face in death - I don’t know if that’s going to help any. Didn’t help me much." He huffed quietly, dragging on his cigarette again, turning over Nine's rope in his hands and exhaling in a cloud of smoke, "Hell, maybe it did. Or maybe it made me fuckin' crazy."

“I understand," Nine said with some effort, his voice unusually quiet, his eyes thoughtful, and Gavin felt honest to god embarrassed. It was silent for a long moment before Nine said, almost to himself, “This is - I should have come here years ago.”

Gavin's hands, still unsteady from his oversharing, nearly dropped the rope on the ground. He found himself sputtering around the smoke in his lungs, coughing out in surprise, “Don’t tell me you’re glad we’re here.”

“It is as you just said,” Nine replied. “I cannot change it or control it. My brother died here. He has no tombstone for me to visit." Now it was Nine’s turn to struggle and stammer, so uncharacteristic of him. “It may be strange, but I - I feel close to him, here.”

“What was your brother’s name?” Gavin asked, head swimming, because he could think of nothing else to say; because he was pissed off at himself for forgetting, how could he forget something so important. “And don’t say it’s fucking Reed, please.”

Nine smiled, truly, utterly smiled, a grin that split his face open and made him look as bright and warm as the sunset above them, sending Gavin nearly flying off the cliff.  “Connor,” he said, slowly, like he had forgotten too, like he hadn’t said it aloud in years. Like it was a relief. “His name was Connor.”

They stood at the canyon’s edge for a long time. When Nine showed no sign of moving, Gavin couldn’t bring himself to pull him away, and instead he stood next to him and stared out over the river valley, the hills and the rocks, a second cigarette dying between his fingers. Way off in the distance, the sky gave in, darkening as the clouds opened up and the rain began. It would be some time before it reached them, if it ever did.

“Thank you,” Nine suddenly said.

“What the fuck for?” Gavin spit out, yet Nine didn’t answer, and Gavin didn’t need him to.

They stood on the cliff and watched the thunderstorm roll across the countryside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Boy With A Coin - Iron & Wine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHw7gdJ14uQ)


	13. lonely sons and daughters

“I got a question for you, kid.”

Connor paused, his shovel partially submerged into the earth. He had a smudge of dirt across his cheek, his sleeves rolled up and shirt open at the collar, perspiration across his face and collarbone. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow and waited, looking at Hank with an odd expression.

“I hope I have an answer.”

“You practicing witchcraft out here or something?”

Connor laughed, then, his eyes crinkling at the corners, shaking his head. “Yes, Hank. I am enchanting the eggs as we speak.”

“Well, I’m still gonna eat ‘em,” Hank declared. He leaned on his shovel, his eyes sweeping across to Sumo and the other animals relaxing by the wagon; the sunrise just beginning behind the trees; a mist still rising from the water next to the campsite that had become something of a temporary paradise since their arrival. “I swear, this river’s got a spell on me.”

“Quite improbable,” Connor said, adding in a light voice, “I believe you are running out of excuses to stay here.”

“Our laundry wasn’t dry yet,” Hank said indignantly.

“That was almost a week ago,” Connor reminded him.

“You’re the one who got the sudden desire to clean out the wagon.”

“It needed a considerable dusting,” Connor said, his turn to become defensive, though there was a lightness to his voice as he resumed digging. “Then _you_ wanted to do a bit more fishing - “

“And now you’re baking these damned mystical eggs.” Hank’s grumbles were good-natured, though, and he stood and watched Connor for a moment, just for a moment, and then joined him in finishing up. After bathing and shaving before dawn, Connor had disappeared, returning somehow with a basket full of eggs. He hadn’t needed to explain what he wanted to do; Hank just fetched the shovels from the wagon. “This’ll take all day, won’t it?”

“It’ll be worth waiting for,” Connor said with confidence, glancing up at Hank through his eyelashes, an entirely casual gesture that stilled Hank in place until he felt the sudden urge to cough.

“Well, we might as make this hole a little deeper, ‘cause we’re gonna need a grave when Fowler’s done wringing our necks.”

“He would never find us here,” Connor said conspiratorially, and Hank had to laugh, then. Connor’s smile grew wider, but its mischievous edge dropped off, leaving a warm expression behind. Hank cleared his throat and looked away, though he could see Connor’s eyes lingering on him before they dropped down, back to the earth.

Once they were done building the firepit, Hank washed the dirt off of his hands in the river and wondered what Jeffrey would say to him if he saw Hank now. It would probably involve a hell of a lot of cursing. It was no matter; they could make up for lost time later on, as Hank always said. And by the time they - he - got back to Covington, their few days of dawdling would be long forgotten and Jeffrey would be none the wiser.

Hank could hear Connor’s voice in his head, so sure things would go as planned back when they first set off, that he'd keep them all right on schedule. Now here he was, agreeing with Hank each morning that they would leave the next day, and not giving a shit that the next day never really seemed to arrive.

Hank lingered at the water’s edge, looking over his shoulder at Connor while he dried his hands. Things had been strange between them. Hank had asked no further questions of Connor’s brother, and Connor had returned the favor, avoiding any mention of Hank’s former wife. It was an unspoken, unsteady agreement that could shatter at any instant, but Hank held onto it with all his might. Despite the bees that buzzed through the trees, despite the unsaid words hanging in the air, the world by the river was calm and serene. As long as they were here, Hank could imagine time had stopped somehow, and that his pocketwatch would only begin to tick again when they got back on the trail.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Connor teased as he joined Hank by the water. Hank realized he was still crouching there awkwardly, thinking.

“I’m in need of a penny about as much as you are,” Hank said. He stood and brushed the dirt from his knees. “Nothin’ worth sharing, anyway.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Connor said.

“That makes one of us,” Hank said, and Connor smiled at him, always that little smile. Hank hesitated, then said, almost defensively, “You gotta stop looking at me like that, kid.”

“Like what?” he said. His voice was oddly soft. They faced each other by the water, two men who couldn’t be more different, and yet Hank had never felt such synchronicity with someone, not Jeffrey, not Cheryl, not anyone, and it made his chest ache.

“Like I might actually say something worth saying,” Hank said, the words jumbled in his mouth, only half-joking. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak, standing there looking at Connor, with Connor gazing back, his eyes warm in the sunlight. His freckles had multiplied since they had begun their trip. Hank couldn't help but notice.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, pulling his eyes away and resisting the spell of this damn river, a spell he wasn't entirely sure wasn't cast by the bees that still seemed to be following them, watching from a distance. He could feel Connor’s eyes still on him, just like before. “Come on,” he said gruffly, “let me get another pot of coffee goin’.”

Connor took the others out of the wagon as the sun broke through the woods. They settled by the fire as usual, talking and laughing the day away. And when he caught Connor watching him out of the corner of his eye, he smiled, asking in a low voice, "Casting spells?" And Connor smiled right back.

 

~

 

If the Jericho gang had any thoughts about their lingering stop off the trail, they didn’t share them. Everyone had eagerly eaten the firepit meal - Connor’s eggs, and some whole fish and potatoes they had thought to bury along with them - and then sat around the campfire as the sun began to set and the crickets sung in the grass by the water. On their third night by the river, Hank had dragged a log over by the campfire, the perfect length for the four of them to sit next to each other. Connor was sitting on a blanket next to Hank, Sumo flopped down between in the space between them, his head at Hank’s feet and his tail in Connor’s, wagging enthusiastically into Connor’s patient face and making everyone else laugh.

The food had been good, the conversation better, and Hank felt good-humored enough to rinse out their coffee cups, fill each one with whiskey and pass them out to Markus and the others. He and Connor shared the bottle, though Connor drank far less than Hank did, as usual. Connor scribbled in his journal as Hank relaxed in his seat with his pipe, enjoying the warm weather and the pleasant buzz of whiskey and tobacco.

“May I?” Connor’s hand was on Hank’s arm, sudden and brief, and Hank passed him the pipe with a little grunt of surprise.

“Striking up a habit, are we?” Hank said with a curl of his lips as Connor inhaled a deep pull from the pipe. He wasn’t sure what he had expected - Connor to cough, or grimace at the taste - but Connor simply exhaled a breath of smoke.

“I never cared for it much.” He shrugged as he handed the pipe back and returned to his journal. “I began smoking far too young. I have to say I don’t miss it.”

“I don’t either,” Markus agreed. “I don’t mind the smell, though. It’s comforting.”

“It is,” Connor said. He continued writing, but Hank didn’t miss the momentary pause of his pencil, the way his eyes flickered up not to Markus, but to Hank.

“I’ve been smokin’ longer than you’ve both been alive,” Hank said pointedly. “Probably combined.”

Connor actually rolled his eyes and then Markus was laughing, the others joining him. The whiskey had only bolstered everyone’s good mood and burgeoning camaraderie, and Markus was unusually at ease, offering suddenly and thoughtfully, “The man who raised me had been drinking scotch and rolling cigarettes since he was knee high. So he claimed.”

“Yeah, and look at where that got him,” North piped up.

“Where?” Connor asked, genuinely curious.

“Seventy five years old and one tough son of a bitch,” she said. Markus was actually smiling, the others laughing in agreement.

“Carl, yeah?” Hank prompted, and Connor was looking at him again. “Your father?”

Markus was still smiling, but it had turned softer, remembering. “Not quite. Just a good man.” He fixed Hank with those two brightly colored eyes, glowing in the firelight. The others were still and quiet. “You two would get along.”

“Sounds like we would,” Hank agreed. “Sounds like he’ll probably be outliving us all.”

He meant it as a joke, but even before he finished the words he realized how it sounded, how it wasn't clever at all. Markus’ face flickered as North let out a sudden humorless bark of laughter. Josh and Simon looked uneasily between them. Connor had abandoned his notes entirely, letting the book slip from his lap onto the blanket, looking up at Hank in discomfort.

"Apologies," Hank managed to say, spitting it out through gritted teeth, unsure of why it was so hard.

“More whiskey, anyone?” Connor said quickly after. His earnest voice cut through the thick quiet and centered Hank’s thoughts, releasing the littlest bit of guilt from his body.

“God, yes,” Josh said in relief, thrusting out his cup, and Connor hurriedly filled it, then the others’, though they hadn’t asked. North’s face was dark as she fidgeted at the end of the log, looking the same as she had that first morning in Newport. Tense, angry with very air she breathed. The others looked - resigned, Hank supposed.

They sat silently for some while as the sky darkened and the full moon rose fully above them, and finally Hank said, “Think it’s time to turn in.”

“Yes, it’s time,” Markus said. His face was painted with a troubled expression, and it was mirrored nearly identically on Connor, who was lost in thought, his journal forgotten in favor of the whiskey bottle.

“Alright,” Hank said gruffly, awkwardly, rising to his feet and forcing Sumo to move with a little whine. “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he said, empty words nowadays.

Connor didn’t move at first, looking into the fire, and Hank had to say his name twice before he blinked and looked up, startled. “Sorry, Hank,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it of smoke. “I’ll clean up.”

Usually he and Connor would sit by the fire into the evening, but tonight they just put the gang to sleep in the wagon and then went to their respective tents with only a couple of words exchanged between them. Connor was clearly anxious, but Hank didn’t want to press too hard. He was too tired to get into it, with a lingering shame that settled in his belly as he laid down. Staring at the ceiling of his tent, Sumo tucked against his side, Hank found himself unable to sleep. He realized he was waiting to hear Connor’s breaths even out, to know that he had fallen asleep. Yet, Hank could just hear Connor awake in his tent; occasionally sighing, his blankets rustling as he shifted positions. And even more distracting, he could hear the gang talking inside the wagon, their voices muffled but tangled, each of them talking over the other.

It must have been close to midnight when the conversation from the wagon died off, and it was shortly after that Connor’s quiet snoring became unmistakable. Only then did Hank finally close his eyes and give himself over to sleep.

 

~

 

The next morning came quickly, and Hank jolted awake as if he had fallen from a great height. The sky was warm, well after dawn, and Hank blearily rubbed his face, scratching the sleep from his eyes as he slowly became more aware of how late it was. But it was quiet, just handful of birds singing in the trees nearby, Daisy and the two oxen huffing and snorting as they grazed next to the wagon. It seemed nobody else was awake yet - not even Connor, Hank saw as he crawled out of his tent and stretched, unable to stop himself from studying his partner.

Through the opening of his tent, Hank could see Connor sleeping with his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side, just his profile visible in the dim sunrise. He was turned slightly towards Hank, his lips parted as he breathed slow and steady, all his worry from the night before smoothed out and forgotten, at least for now. Hank remembered Connor’s concerns at the start of their journey; the questions he had asked, if it would be hard or not, taking the prisoners to their fate. Hank wanted to remind him it would get easier, even if it didn’t seem like it. Hell, maybe he just wanted to remind himself of that fact. His head was pounding too much to give it much thought.

Hank dressed, then stoked the campfire and made coffee in comfortable silence. Sumo went back to sleep on the blanket next to the awakening coals, leaving Hank entirely alone. He was surprised Connor wasn’t awake yet, but figured a little bit of a late start wouldn’t hurt too much. Hank wondered what excuse they would find today, to stick around by the river, and just as he sipped the last dregs of his first cup of coffee, Sumo stood up and padded over to the wagon, tail wagging.

“Time to get up, eh?” Sumo almost always seemed to know when the gang was waking up. Hank glanced over at Connor’s tent, where he was still fast asleep. It wasn’t though he had to wait for Connor in order to start his day, he reasoned as he stood up.

Hank made his way over to the wagon, shushing Sumo as he approached and unlocked the doors. “Mornin’,” he grunted as he nodded at the quartet inside, each of them shifting as they adjusted to the sudden light.

“Good morning,” Simon murmured, the only one to answer. He looked exhausted, two dark purple circles under his eyes, out of place on his usually fair face. The others looked little better; about as rested as Hank felt.

“Connor's not awake yet,” Hank said as he began to untie Simon, preparing to take him out of the wagon. “I’ll start breakfast.”

Hank took Simon out first, then Markus. They were calm and compliant, as always, if not more than usual. Maybe Hank was imagining it, but he was grateful all the same, hoping that leaving their conversation behind was the correct choice. He had the two thoughtful men stand to the side and wait for him to take out North, Josh the last one left in the wagon. As Hank helped her out, he turned his attention to Connor’s tent for just a moment, wondering if he was awake yet, North’s ropes going slack in his hands.

Whether it was planned or not, Hank didn’t know, but he saw her fists on his face before he felt them, and the sheer shock of it was what knocked him back, stumbling in the dirt.

It happened very quickly, after that.

North was not even half Hank’s size, but she was quick, and her hands flew out sharp and desperate, landing blows on his his brow and his neck, making him choke and sputter. She scratched her hand down his face, her nails cutting four jagged stinging tracks down his cheek. Hank didn’t have time to shout; he didn’t have time to feel the pain - he just grappled with her wrists, losing control for one breathtaking instant in which he was sure she would grab the gun at his waist.

“What the hell!” Josh shouted from inside the wagon, straining against his ropes so hard the wagon rocked on its wheels. “North, _stop!”_

She flinched for just a second, and Hank was able to get purchase on her again, wrapping his palms around her forearms and trying to pull her close, to subdue her. Sumo circled them, barking and snapping, but Hank pushed him away, knowing dimly in the back of his mind he didn’t want his dog to get a swift kick to the face. North was snarling, scratching, fighting dirty, jabbing his ribs and kicking at his legs - Hank cursed and grunted with the effort of trying to hold her, until she leapt away from him. For a moment, Hank thought she would take off into the woods, and for a moment, he thought he might let her.

Markus moved forward, then, just as Hank saw Connor rise from his tent, both of them moving towards Hank and North scrambling through the grass - but Markus’ wrists were still bound by ropes, and Connor was holding his shotgun.

“Connor, no!” Hank yelled as time seemed to slow; as Connor brought the gun up to his shoulder and moved to aim it; as Markus darted up, and brought his tied hands down around North’s body, holding her to him as she kicked and screamed.

“Let me go!” She flung herself at Markus behind her, fighting the best she could. “You fucking coward! You fucking asshole! Let me go! _Help me!_ ”

“Come on, North,” Markus said, just holding her there while she spit and cursed and struggled. “Come on.”

Connor had yet to lower his gun, but he didn’t move either, just raised his head and stared at the scene before him with wide eyes. Hank was breathing heavily, his chest threatening to burst. He realized Simon had placed his hands on Hank’s back, steadying both of them. And Markus just held North, letting her fight until it all left her in one final burst, until she began to sink to the ground, and Markus went on his knees with her.

“Fuck you,” she said, to no one in particular.

“Fuck you, too,” Markus said, not unkindly, against her hair. She was crying, now.

Even the birds and the insects seemed to have gone quiet. Hank wasn’t even sure he could hear the river.

“I don’t want to fucking die,” North sobbed bitterly. She closed her eyes.

Markus didn’t say anything to that. Nobody did. Hank could barely catch his breath as he looked at Markus and North on the ground; and at Josh sitting helplessly, still tied up in the wagon. Simon stayed close to Hank, looking for once like he didn’t know what to do, his hands still resting on Hank’s shoulder as they stood together. And when Hank looked at Connor, he was looking back, his face twisted with something Hank couldn’t even begin to decipher, the shotgun trembling in his hands.

None of them moved for some time as Markus held North in his arms, rocking her almost like a child. Eventually, Connor threw the gun to the ground.

 

~

 

They broke camp and left the river behind.

 

~

 

It was one of the longest days Hank could remember, and about as miserable a day as he'd had in years, which was a strong achievement for him. It was the first time since the beginning of their journey where despite the warm and mild weather, Hank left the gang in the wagon all day long. Nobody attempted to talk to Hank; not the gang as he handed them each their supper, making them eat in the wagon for the first time in weeks; not even Connor, for once, who spent the day riding Daisy quietly and refused dinner. The silence was suffocating.

Hank turned into his whiskey early, numbing away the adrenaline of the struggle, and the cuts North had made on his face and body. They were nothing to concern himself over; shallow scratches that would heal in a couple of weeks; a couple of bruises beginning to bloom on his cheek and neck and thigh where she had hit him particularly hard. He had certainly experienced worse encounters with angry prisoners. He was having trouble recalling them in detail, now, but he knew he had.

Though Connor was quiet, he refused to let Hank deal with the gang alone. He helped Hank check on them as the sun began to set, and the gang was clearly terrified - expecting some type of punishment, Hank could tell. But Hank didn't plan on giving any. He dealt with them as he always did, though with their usual friendly banter absent, Connor calm and quiet. North didn't look at anyone, just stared into the middle distance, somewhere far outside of the wagon's interior. Markus's eyes tracked Hank's every movement.

Once they locked the wagon closed for the night, the two men sat at the campfire together, their routine stronger than their tension. The woods had opened up as they had moved along, and the only sounds on the prairie were the crackling flames, the singing insects, a single wolf howling way off in the distance - and the gang, arguing in the wagon, their voices muffled but undeniably raised. It had been like this all day, an obvious friction between them that played out behind closed doors, another temporary prison. Replaying the events in his head during the day, Hank knew for sure that North's decision had been her own. He wondered what the others were thinking, though, what they were feeling. If they had suspected. If that was what they had argued over, late into the night, keeping Hank and Connor awake.

He wondered about Connor.

“I suppose you were gonna suggest we talk about this,” Hank said after they had sat in the dark for a short amount of time. Sumo had sat with his head in Hank’s lap for most of it, his woeful eyes fixed upon his owner, until he finally laid down in front of the fire. Hank’s mind and mouth were numb from the drink and the events of the day. He touched his cheek, briefly, his belly twisting again as he remembered her hands striking him.

“I suppose I was,” Connor said carefully. He watched Hank, his white hands clutching at the journal in his lap. He seemed unable to bring himself to open it. What would he even write?

“God dammit,” Hank said in a rush of breath, reaching for his tobacco and pipe, confessing, “I was not fuckin’ expecting that.”

“We became complacent,” Connor agreed. His voice was soft. Those words alone dispelled the warmth of the memory of the enchanted river and their hours beside it, turning it into something pathetic, something they shouldn't have done.

“I can’t even blame her for - fuck, I don’t know, I just can't.” Hank swept one hand through his hair, studying the sad expression on Connor’s face, hearing his words in Covington, words that even as a memory still sent a chill through Hank's nerves. _I’d rather die than live like that._ “Can you?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said with a great deal of effort. He looked about as defeated as Hank felt. “I feel like I failed.”

“Failed,” Hank laughed out humorlessly. “If anybody failed, it’s my sorry old ass.”

“Don’t say that,” Connor said sharply.

“I let myself forget that something like this could happen,” Hank said, talking over him as if he hasn’t heard. “God dammit, Connor, what if it had been you?”

“It wouldn’t have happened,” Connor said. “If I had been awake.”

“That’s bullshit,” Hank said dismissively, instantly.

Connor shook his head, lowering his voice. “No it’s not, Hank. It was probably impulsive, realizing that you were alone and that maybe she could take you by surprise.”

“Well, she certainly fuckin' succeeded there,” Hank said. His words were sharp and hard, dragging him even lower.

Connor looked like he was holding his breath, physically containing whatever he wanted to say. Neither of them spoke. The darkness seemed to be seeping into Hank, crushing his lungs, and Hank tried to wash it away with another long swig of whiskey.

“I almost shot her,” Connor finally whispered.

Hank stared at him. Connor’s white knuckled hands had yet to leave his journal. It appeared as if he would tear it in two.

Hank rarely asked questions he didn’t want to hear the answer to, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Would you have?”

“Yes,” Connor said immediately, and for some reason, Hank felt this was the wrong response.

“She didn’t do anything,” he said, cursing himself at why he felt so defensive, turning into his bottle and away from Connor. The air between them shifted instantly.

“Yes she did.” Connor reached out, then, as if to touch the raw red marks on Hank’s face, but his hand just as quickly dropped back down into his lap.

“A couple of scratches ain’t nothin to write home about. Hell, maybe I fuckin' deserved it.”

"Don't _say_ that," Connor said again. "She could have hurt you so much worse."

Hank wanted to grab his wrist, then, and hated it - hated that he wanted to press Connor’s fingertips to his cheek so he could feel it was fine, so Connor could know it wasn’t something to concern himself with. He continued, voice sharp, “People get hurt all the time, kid. It’s just something you have to get used to.”

“I already am, thank you,” Connor snapped, surprising both of them. He threw his hands up in exasperation, like he was going to stalk off, but he didn’t move, his voice turning strained and desperate. “I don’t understand. You _asked_ me if I would do it. If I would shoot them, if I had to. And now you’re upset - “

“Well, you didn’t have to,” Hank interrupted him, taking another long sip and feeling it burn all the way down. “So that’s that. I don’t need you worrying about shit like this.”

“Like this? Like _you_?” Connor was pleading now, his voice rising to meet Hank’s in volume. “I want to talk to you.”

Hank was standing before Connor even finished talking. “I’m turning in,” he said shortly. Sumo sat up, whining and looking between them.

“No,” Connor said.

Hank looked at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”

At least he looked contrite, at that, but he didn’t back down. “We’re not done here.”

“I don’t know what else you want to discuss,” Hank said. He was drunker than he thought, his exhaustion and lack of appetite sending him further over the edge. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking my orders? Aren’t you my hired hand?”

“I’m your partner,” Connor said. His voice was even, his eyes dark. They didn’t waver away from Hank.

“Well, whoever you are,” Hank said, “you’re supposed to be making my life easier instead of even more fucking complicated. So let’s just get some shut eye and think about this shit tomorrow.”

It had the intended effect. Connor looked wounded, and while Hank instantly regretted giving into his temper, the younger man quickly recovered and said, “I’ll take first watch. You’re far too intoxicated to look after yourself, let alone the entire campsite.”

“Connor,” Hank said with a disbelieving guffaw, shaking his head, “neither of us have stayed up to take watch in _weeks._ ”

“I think now is a good time to begin again,” Connor said. All of his discomfort, his fear, his concern, was written plainly on his face. But he held his ground, and didn’t look away.

Hank swayed on his feet, bringing a hand to his face to scrub at his eyes while he sighed. He wanted, badly, to reach down and pull Connor to his chest, to grip his hands and assure him that they would take it one day at a time until that morning was just another memory. He wanted to dig up what the two of them had planted back by the river, and carry it along with them, to see if it could grow.

Instead Hank turned wordlessly away and crawled onto the front of the wagon, closing his eyes as he collapsed on the platform and looked into the sky. The stars were spinning. He expected Sumo to follow him, but instead the dog stayed with Connor at the campfire, Connor speaking to him in a soothing voice that didn't seem to help. As the moon rose, Sumo’s lonely, confused whimpers turned into one long low howl that joined the lone wolf still calling in the distance.

Connor didn’t wake up Hank to keep watch, and he awoke with a start at dawn, scrambling off of the wagon in confusion, wondering if something had happened - but Connor was just sitting on his stool, his bare freckled back to Connor, just finishing his morning shave. He glanced at Hank over his shoulder and turned back to his things, silently wiping his face with a damp rag.

“Coffee,” Hank croaked out, more of an announcement than a question, and as he moved towards the campfire he saw Connor had already laid everything out for him. As usual, even still.

Hank puttered about and once the kettle was ready, poured each of them a cup. Connor had yet to move or dress, just sat on the stool and watched Hank, like he was waiting for something.

It was hard not to notice the collection of pale, old scars that peppered over Connor's body; Hank felt like he spotted a new one each time he happened to see Connor like this. Each one held the answer to a question Hank hadn't thought to ask yet. "We should hit the road soon," he finally muttered.

“Yes,” Connor said. His voice was clipped and efficient. “We should be able to get back on schedule if we take the Pond Creek trail southwest, once we leave the outpost. We need quite a few supplies, but we’re only about sixty miles away. I made a list.”

“Shit,” Hank swept his hand through his hair and poured another cup of coffee, eyeing him. “You need to fuckin’ sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Connor said.

“You rest for a while,” Hank insisted, “I’ll take the gang out real quick and then pack things up. We'll give them some time to sort their business out."

Connor’s cheeks turned pink, embarrassment flushing down his neck and his chest, sudden and surprising. He cleared his throat and wiped his hands on the rag.

“I took care of them already, before you woke up,” he said, holding himself stiff as he waited for Hank to react. It was like he knew what Hank was going to say, and god dammit, he was right.

“Connor, what the hell,” Hank said in a rush of breath. “You did it alone - ?”

“I wanted to make things easier for you,” Connor said. His chagrined expression wasn’t enough to appease Hank, who felt his own shame spread like a wildfire, uncontrollable, undefeatable. "It's what you would do. What a good partner would do."

“That’s not what I fucking meant - god dammit, kid,” his hand clutched tight around his cup, voice hard, “First you stay up all night long and don't get me up to take over so you can get some rest - then you're martyring yourself to save me half an hour's time."

Hank shook his head, laughing in disbelief rather than good humor, unable to stop, his pride wounded, letting loose all of the anger and confusion of the last few days. It was a release he should have known wouldn't truly help. "What do you think, Connor? That I’m gonna break my word and retaliate against them? That I can’t be trusted?” He turned the mug over and dumped the coffee onto the ground, his voice scrambled but raised as he stood up, “You think I can’t handle them, is that it? That I haven’t dealt with fucking hell before?”

“I don’t know what you’ve dealt with,” Connor said, looking up at him with a determined set to his mouth, “considering you won’t talk to me.”

“It’s not like you’d tell me shit either, kid,” Hank growled out. “God dammit, I’m not some old man who needs to be coddled.”

Connor grabbed his shirt as he stood up then, facing Hank eye to eye. He pulled it over his head, his focus still on Hank, holding his gaze. He tugged the fabric down and tucked it into his pants, his bare skin disappearing, hidden and unknowable again, just like the rest of him. Hank couldn’t help but watch Connor’s hands, the way they passed over the buttons of his shirt, making sure everything was perfectly in place before hitching his suspenders over his shoulders. He fixed his collar at his throat, leaving it open and loose, and then he crouched down briefly to grab his hat - Hank's hat, that he had been wearing for a week now.

“No, you’re not,” Connor finally said, looking down at him. “And I’m not a kid.”

He put the hat on and turned away to the animals. Hank felt like he had to sit back down for a moment. He shook it off and put out the still-burning remains of the fire, in a daze as they prepared to get going. He felt as though he was the one who had been up all night, instead of Connor, who showed no signs of exhaustion while he saddled up Daisy.

As Hank took his seat at the front of the wagon, Connor pulled himself onto their horse and rode ahead. Sumo was bounding along, the only one in a good mood. Usually the gang was walking along with them, through the waving tall grass and yellow flowers. Hank realized it was the first morning he hadn’t seen them, hadn’t said anything to them. They were just closed up in the wagon.

The sun turned from red to gold, from blood to honey, the sky eventually as clear as the river they had left behind. Hank reached for his whiskey. He expected - wanted, maybe - some reaction from Connor; a raised eyebrow at the early hour, a chiding reminder to focus, a quip that would somehow dissolve some of the tension between them. But none came. They resumed their place on the trail to Tucson in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sons & Daughters - American Spirit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2wQyeTr_jc)
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> ps: I went back and did a small amount of editing as well as added where I took my chapter titles from - I have a huge playlist I've been curating while I write this and I will definitely share it when we're all done! Still got a long road to travel... thanks for the amazing comments and kudos and just for reading in general!!!


	14. i can die when i'm done

After almost a fortnight of traveling, they had left the cliffside far behind, but Gavin had gained something in exchange.

“You look like you’re on death’s door,” Nine said helpfully one morning, ten miles out from Whitewater and four days into a cough that had rapidly turned into a disgusting snot-covered pain in the ass.

“I’m fuckin’ dying,” Gavin whined as he crawled out of his tent, immediately pulling himself onto a nearby rock and rolling a cigarette.

“Is the cure for pneumonia tobacco?” Nine shrugged a little bit, his back to the tree, chest bound. His legs were splayed out comfortably, no real remnant of his injury to be seen. He certainly looked more comfortable than Gavin felt.

“You think I have pneumonia?”

“No, for god’s sake, Reed,” Nine said. “It’s just a cold.”

“Ugh.”

“For now,” Nine said.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Gavin groaned. “Fuck you.”

Gavin rarely got sick, but when he did, it strapped him to the railroad tracks and ran him over for fucking days, sometimes even weeks at a time. He smoked his cigarette and glowered at Nine. He seemed unaffected by the weather. Or, by most things. Not all things, though, Gavin knew now. Definitely not all things.

After leaving the cliff, they had doubled back and continued south along the river. Eventually the canyon sloped down into a deep valley, and from there it was just a matter of finding the right place. The summer rains had caused the river to swell, and they had no choice but to wade across, Gavin hurrying through the water as quickly as possible. It was deeper than he had thought, but they made it to the other side in one piece, albeit soaked to the bone.

It was cooler down closer to the river, long shadows cast by the cliffs above. They continued in their wet clothes for a couple of hours before breaking to make camp. Gavin knew that night it would happen, and the next morning’s sniffles confirmed it.

Nine seemed to take great amusement in his misery at times. That wasn’t really much of a surprise, though it was curious how much Nine has lightened up in the time since they’d left the cliff. It wasn’t a physical thing, really; he had returned to his stiff, upright posture and locked shoulders, though the extreme tension from before was gone. His impassive expression remained, for the most part. But Nine was infinitely more talkative, falling back into their old habit of constant bickering, the silence between them dropped away into the river. They didn’t discuss what had happened - their conversations about their families, or his brother’s death.

Gavin didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind any of it, really.

By the end of the day Gavin was feeling even worse. He stopped the horses early and set up the bare bones of their campsite. They were not much more than a day’s ride from Whitewater, where Gavin planned on getting more supplies and mailing his letter to Kamski. The parchment seemed to burn a hole through his pack, reminding him of what he was doing. Gavin found it difficult to think about anything other than his raw throat and rafty lungs, though. And neither, apparently, could Nine, who could not stop talking about it.

“Perhaps you should see a doctor,” Nine said that night as Gavin began to doze off on the blanket by the campfire.

He coughed uncontrollably before answering. “I heard you the first fucking hundred times. I’ll be fine.”

“You are not a very good liar, Reed.”

“Thanks,” Gavin muttered. He didn’t even feel like arguing.

Gavin couldn’t fall asleep for a while, not fully. His occasional racking coughs pulled him back into reality each time. He thought he saw Nine watching him, thought he heard him talking. But maybe it was just a dream.

 

~

 

“There it is,” Nine said, turning to look over his shoulder at Gavin. “Are you asleep again?”

“No,” Gavin said with a jolt. He had dozed off a couple of times in his saddle as they traveled, his head heavy and thick like a bunched up wool blanket. He trusted Apple to stay along the trail, though once Nine had caught him the first time, Gavin had tried desperately to stay alert. He didn’t want Nine to catch him in a moment of weakness, both for his safety, and his pride. “I see it.”

Far up ahead was the outline of the town. It was small, but thriving out here on the plains. Gavin urged Apple along. It was late afternoon - surely the post office would be closed, maybe even some of the shops if he was unlucky.

“Let’s hustle, I don’t wanna set up camp in the dark,” Gavin said. His raspy voice belied his command, and Nine’s gaze lingered on him over his shoulder.

“I would once again advise you to see a doctor.”

“What the fuck do you care,” Gavin said. He sneezed.

Nine held up his bound wrists, giving Gavin a pointed, pitying stare. “I would prefer not to be stuck in a compromising position, so actually, I am quite invested in your well being.”

“Imagine it,” Gavin said almost wistfully. “Your ass tied to a little thorny tree, me dead in my tent from some shit cold. You’d be _so_ god damned bored.”

“Yes, at least right now I can move around,” Nine said. His tone shifted, slightly. “Perhaps the doctor has a room you could rent for the evening.”

“Yeah, I don’t have the money to burn on that shit,” Gavin muttered.

“I know you completed jobs while you tracked me,” Nine said. “Quite successfully, as I understand.”

“Yeah, well, those days are over now that I got my hands full. You think I got an advance or something when I found you? I got nothing coming in until Plainview unless I start selling our shit. I gotta be cheap as fuck with what I worry about.”

Nine didn’t say anything else. Gavin wondered what he was thinking about as he let his eyes close again. Just for a minute.

 

~

 

Gavin had been correct that everything in town was closed. He still rode through, scoping out the stores and the scene as the sunset loomed over them. The doctor’s was right on the edge of the entrance to town - and though Gavin saw a white horse in the attached stable and a candle in the window upstairs, there was no sign of activity inside. He didn’t look at Nine as they moved past it, Gavin’s coughs echoing through the town that was winding down for the night.

Whitewater didn’t have a place like the Bullpen, but the dingy little bar was open of course, and Gavin stole in to get a fresh bottle of whiskey. He came back out from inside, to where Nine stood next to the two horses, all three of them tied up and waiting. He popped out the cork and took a long sip just standing there on the porch.

“I thought you were broke.”

“Didn’t say I was, did I?” Gavin said as he shuffled down the steps. A rattling cough shook up his ribs, but he pounded on his chest to ease it away. “I just don’t have money for, you know, fancy shit.”

“So whiskey is a necessity, then.”

“It sure as hell is,” Gavin said, squinting at him. “What, you’re a teetotaler or something?”

“Of course not,” Nine said. “But perhaps my time in captivity has led me to see some former necessities as luxuries.”

“Yeah, fuckin perhaps.” Gavin realized it had been weeks since Nine had had a drink, or a smoke, a real bath or the chance to bring himself off. Gavin would go fucking _crazy_ , he thought. He supposed that was Nine’s secret; he already was a crazy bastard. Or at least so crazy that sometimes he seemed almost -

Gavin took another sip from his bottle, watching Nine watching him, and then stuffed it into his pack.

Though Gavin hadn’t wanted to make camp after dark, they didn’t have much of a choice. It was under a rising half moon that Gavin led them just out of town and settled at the first bush he could find to tie Nine to. The bottle was drained until it fell forgotten into the dirt, Gavin asleep half on his blanket, his handkerchief bunched in his fist.

 

~

 

Gavin was suffocating.

He was buried in a coffin and he was suffocating and the earth was in his chest and -

“Please calm down, sir,” a melodic voice said. A palm on his flying wrist; the thin, cool back of a hand on his forehead. “You’re very ill.”

Cool. Cold, but not ice, not water. It felt good, the hand on his skin; better than the dirt in his lungs at least. He blinked, not seeing at first. Had she dug him out? No, he hadn’t been buried at all. He sputtered out a choking cough that forced him, groaning, onto his side.

A fair woman crouched over him. She looked cheerful enough as her face came into focus, round and framed by braids of yellow-blonde hair. She was younger than Gavin, younger than Nine, even, and there was already a good six or seven years between them. Probably the same age as Nine’s brother - Connor - yeah, the same age as Connor, if he had still been alive.

“Though you refused to find a doctor yourself,” Nine said from his bush, “it appears the doctor has found you instead.”

“Careful,” the woman coaxed as she helped Gavin sit up. Another coughing fit wracked his body, his head throbbing along with each pulse of his heart. He spit onto the ground, wiping at his mouth with his hand as he got a look at her, this overly helpful stranger. She was dressed in all blue; even her eyes were the color of the sky instead of clear grey ice like Nine’s.

“I’m sorry, who the hell are you again?” Gavin said.

“As your companion said,” she handed him a canteen of water, her own, “I’m the doctor here in Whitewater.”

“Well, we’re not quite in Whitewater yet,” Gavin said stubbornly. “We’re still outside town limits so, not sure why you care.”

She looked at him, that gentle expression still on her face, though her voice grew sharp. “I heard you coughing outside my home last night, Mr. Reed. I suppose I find it difficult to ignore a potential patient. I was up late wondering if you would knock at my door. When I spotted your horses out here this morning I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check on you.” She stood, delicately plucking the canteen from Gavin and moving over to Nine, offering it to him next. She dribbled the water into his mouth for him. Gavin watched it trickle down his chin, his neck, raining onto his shirt. Nine didn’t take his eyes off of him.

“Why don’t you ride back with me,” she suggested, back to that sweet coaxing voice, like a mother. She capped her water and slung it back over her shoulder. “I have some remedies that will ease your cough and allow you to resume your journey south.”

“How do you know we’re going south,” Gavin said suspiciously.

“You’re a very heavy sleeper,” Nine provided. “It was some time before you woke up. Chloe and I were able to get acquainted.”

“Chloe, huh.” Gavin eyed her. That doe-eyed face was hiding something firm and unyielding. He wondered if she recognized them, either of them, as he always did when they met someone. Though the last time Nine or his brother would have passed through here, they would have looked far different, Gavin had a feeling the Whitewater doctor was pretty fucking observant. “How long you been a doctor, Chloe?”

“Long enough to know your stubbornness will take your life,” she said mildly, and yeah, Gavin was right. “You don’t seem like the type of man who’d be very proud to succumb to illness, so perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“We’ve lost enough time on the trail,” Gavin said, speaking to both of them in a weak, rasping voice that barely gained in volume as he continued on. “We can’t be dawdling here, so if it’s all the same to you ma’am, I’d like to hit the road again.” He glanced at Nine. “You got a problem with that?”

“Actually,” Nine said with a slight tilt of his head as he regarded Gavin, “my ankle is suddenly bothering me. I’m not sure I can walk much further.”

Gavin frowned. “The fuck? You were fine - “

“I suffered a bad sprain, Doctor,” Nine said, talking over him. “As you can imagine I’ve had little time to rest it and now it simply _aches_ \- “

“Well, I should get you back to my office real quick then, sir,” Chloe said brightly. “Mr. Reed, I don’t suppose you’d like to accompany us, considering he _is_ your captive.”

Gavin’s mouth opened and closed. He was at a loss for words. He remembered what the old doctor had said back in Idaho - _I respect your profession -_ and he wondered if Chloe felt the same. If he could trust her. There were no doubt dozens of people who would sympathize with Nine, those who would betray the law in favor of their own sense of morality. Fuck, he wished Tina was there with him. And yet, he had trusted that old doctor; perhaps he could trust this young one.

Chloe and Nine were both looking at him with that same expectant expression. Even their horses - Chloe’s white mare, and Apple, and the black stallion - seemed to regard Gavin impatiently. _Get a move on,_ he imagined Apple telling him. “Fine,” he huffed out with a resigned laugh. “Looks like I don’t have a fuckin choice, huh?”

 

~

 

Chloe’s office was full of pale sunlight and white wood, the windows thrown open, a hot breeze drifting through the ivory curtains. Gavin and Nine sat at a small wooden table near her stove as she moved purposefully from shelf to shelf. It was a calm, innocent place, Gavin felt, unlike any they’d stopped at so far. Chloe herself was sweet as syrup, her tiny hands making quick work of a tea kettle and a medley of remedies that she efficiently and cheerfully explained.

“Brew this and drink at dawn, after your coffee,” she said as she loaded up his canvas pack with bag after bag of herbs. Gavin had a feeling she knew entirely too much about him. Fucking Nine. “It will ease your cough and calm your fever. At night, drink this one.” It was a darker leather pouch, tied with a new knot configuration to differentiate it from the other. “This will make you sweat and help you sleep. Then have a spoonful of this once or twice a day, whenever needed - it will soothe your throat.”

At that she handed him a small jar of something golden, crystals lining the inside of the glass.

“Honey,” she said.

“I know what it is,” Gavin said, annoyed. Nine shot him a look that somehow, instantly, made him feel like a child. “Thanks, doc,” he muttered.

She looked pleased, and handed him a steaming mug of tea. It smelled like flowers. Gavin took a tentative sip. “Within the week you should be feeling much more energized,” she said as she watched him, making sure he continued drinking, before finally adding, “I gave you more than enough, in case one of you happens to fall ill again.”

“Luckily the good lord only tries to take me about once a year, so I should be fit as a fiddle after this,” Gavin said as he rose from his chair, draining the last of his cup. He reached into his pack and his hand closed around the ever-shrinking wad of bills, a momentary panic flashing over him. “How much do I owe you?”

Chloe’s gentle manner rightfully disappeared as she calculated out his bill with deep focus. He couldn’t imagine it was easy, making an honest living out here like this. Had her folks been doctors, too? His mind wandered, ruminating that if the circumstances had been right, maybe she would have turned out like Nine. Maybe she have turned to a dark path to scratch out a means of existence. Gavin’s pop hadn’t been good for much, but at least he had been successful, shown Gavin he could do _something_ and keep himself afloat. If Gavin hadn’t had that, maybe he -

He shook his head and willed the thought away. As Chloe told him his total, Gavin had the odd feeling that it was lower than it should’ve been. Maybe her generosity wasn’t so easily destroyed.

“Doctor,” Nine said, “I don’t suppose you have a room Reed could rent for the evening.”

“Oh, piss off,” Gavin said at the same time Chloe said, “Of course I do!”

They all looked at each other for a moment. Chloe was the first to speak. “Considering your condition, Mr. Reed, I must insist you take your leave here for the night.”

“This is a fuckin racket,” Gavin grumbled. “The two of you have gotta be in cahoots.” His fist was tight and damp around his money. It was true he didn’t give a damn to hoard it, but he certainly didn’t want to be penniless. He’d rather cough out one of his lungs. “While I appreciate the concern, I have some business to attend to in town, and I don’t imagine I’ll have much money to spare once I’m finished.” He had a sudden thought, a grin overtaking his face. “Unless my friend Dick here plans on paying our way.”

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it before. For all Nine’s talk of burying fortunes, he still had the very strong habit of robbing and looting. A thief at heart. Of course he would have some type of currency with him. Gavin wasn’t sure, actually, why he had never rifled through Nine’s things. He should have already known this information. A stupid mistake, but the thought made Gavin feel momentarily optimistic.

“Unfortunately the small amount of money I had pilfered was left behind in an empty log in the wilderness of Idaho.” His voice sounded like a poet’s, lilting and sure, and Gavin’s grin fell off as he glowered at him.

“You stashed it?”

“I reasoned that if I was discovered, I did not want whoever found me to take my money as well. It seemed prudent at the same. I assumed I would return to collect it at a later date.” Gavin didn’t miss the past tense of his words.

Gavin wanted to ask why a notoriously famous killer and robber didn’t have a massive bag of coins he just flaunted around, but he didn’t want to discuss it in front of Chloe. He ground his jaw shut, spitting out, “Fine, dipshit, just fine.” He paused, then added, “I'll toss through your shit later, so you better not be lyin'."

“Never,” Nine said.

Chloe looked between them and then cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, considering I am insisting upon your stay here, I’m sure I can offer a protracted rate.”

“Five dollars,” Gavin immediately said. “For both of us.”

She eyed him. Gavin had wanted to catch her off balance, but it didn’t seem possible. “Fifteen,” she said, “and you may board your horses in my stable.”

“Ten, then. He doesn’t need a bed and we’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Chloe glanced at Nine, who lowered his chin just-so, an unmistakable nod of approval. She extended her hand to Gavin. “Ten it is.”

Once they shook on it and he paid her for the room, Gavin said, “If it’s all the same, I’d like to board up the horses now and collect some supplies.”

“While I’d certainly prefer you stay here and rest,” Chloe said, “I will show you to the stable. If you’d like, I’ll watch over your companion while you’re busy in town.”

“No offense doc, but _hell_ no.” Gavin nearly laughed, but coughed instead. “He’s coming with me.”

“Mr. Dick, I would like to examine your injury,” Chloe said, turning to reason with him instead as Gavin choked back a laugh at her sincerity. “If it’s still bothering you.”

Nine shrugged one shoulder against the back of his chair. His wrists were bound, but Gavin could see that his hands were folded neatly on top of his knees. “I seem to have made a full recovery,” he said after a moment.

“Perhaps then, when you return, we will see how you feel.” Chloe began to tidy up, effectively dismissing them.

“Well, good, then, Mr. Dick,” Gavin said. He had expected such an answer, but the acknowledgment of Nine’s manipulation still twisted oddly up his spine. “Let’s get some shit done.”

 

~

 

With their horses safely in the stable, their belongings stored away in Chloe’s spare room, and a spoonful of honey coating Gavin’s throat, the two men set off through Whiteport. It was a small town, no different from any of the other hundred thousand places Gavin had strolled through in his travels. He remembered the layout of the buildings from their visit the night before; the butcher, the blacksmith, the bar, none as bright and well-kept as the doctor’s office.

The general store was near the center of town, and despite its small size, its high shelves were crammed full and held a countless number of supplies. Gavin tied up Nine to the post outside after double-checking his bandana and his ropes, and then hurried quickly through the shop. There were no large windows he could peer out of to keep an eye on Nine, and the building was hot and stagnant and made Gavin even more nervous. He heard the sounds of the town outside - voices of townspeople and travelers strolling down the street; horses and oxen and dogs; someone playing the piano next door. It only raised his hackles more, knowing Nine was left alone around all of these people, and the longer he was in there, the worse of a feeling he had. He didn’t have much of a choice, though; most businesses didn’t allow bounty hunters to bring their captives inside, and the Whitewater General Store was no exception.

He pared down his purchase to just the essentials: soap, preserved food, matches, tobacco. They had his favorite brand, Brotherhood, and Gavin allowed himself three pouches. He still had plenty left of the Four Roses he had gotten further back on the trail, and though he had gotten used to the sweet airy flavor, Gavin was itching for something more familiar.

Once nearly all of his money was spent, Gavin clutched the last of it in his fist as he left the store, though he was stopped in his tracks almost at once.

“Reed,” Nine said calmly.

It took only an instant for Gavin to draw his gun.

“Excuse me, boys,” Gavin said, “get the fuck away from my man.”

A trio of scruffy, laughing teenagers had circled around Nine like a pack of vultures, but they quickly backed off, skittish and wide-eyed as Gavin approached with his pistol drawn.

“Relax mister, we was just curious,” the boldest of them said. “Sometimes marshals come through here and - “

Gavin gestured at him dismissively with his gun. “You heard what I said. Get the fuck away from him.”

One of the kids had already taken off down the street, but the other two remained, their hands held palm-out in front of them. “We was just curious,” their apparent ringleader said again.

“Look, I’m no fuckin’ marshal, and I got no qualms about killing to protect my bounty,” Gavin said. He had yet to lower his arm. “Now I’m not about to waste my bullets on a couple of dipshits like you, but let me tell you, this thing sure does sting when you whip it across somebody’s face.”

“Speaking from personal experience, it’s something you may want to avoid,” Nine advised.

The kids looked between them and then, all bravery lost, turned tail and ran down the street after their friend.

Gavin holstered his gun and stepped off the porch, putting his hat back on, low over his eyes in the mid-day sun. “They do anything to you?” he demanded sharply as he untied Nine from the post. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but his heart was still pounding in his chest, his illness momentarily forgotten in the moments he was sure Nine was about to be recognized, or worse.

“Of course not, they were simply wondering. They were children not too long ago,” Nine said, though he watched Gavin’s face, nearly all of his expression hidden, and yet Gavin was sure he could guess what he was thinking.

“They weren’t a threat, not really, unless they got handsy.” Gavin picked up the end of the rope around Nine’s neck and nodded across the way, to the post office, his eyes sweeping across the street as he did so. A small number of people had paused to pay attention to the brief altercation in front of the store, but returned back to minding their own business once the boys had run off. Sometimes that was the only thing that protected you out on the frontier. And luckily, that worked very well for Gavin.

Gavin’s eyes returned to Nine’s. “I wouldn’t have shot them,” he muttered. He remembered what he was like twenty years ago, just a boy thrust into the role of a man, full of confidence and hostility. Of course they wanted to investigate this dark stranger in their town. Gavin felt a deep need to explain himself, for some reason, to assuage the man’s presumption about his recklessness. “Rough ‘em up a little, maybe, just to put the fear of god and Gavin Reed in them, but that’s about it.”

Though the bandana covered it, Gavin could see that a smirk quirked up one side of Nine’s face. Gavin thought he was about to laugh.

Instead he just followed behind Gavin as they crossed the short walk to the post office. It was a short, squat place, with a fading sign out front and a half a dozen horses tied up on the side.

Gavin bypassed the posts outside but was momentarily stalled when Nine stopped walking.

“I don’t believe they will allow me inside,” Nine said.

“Do you need Chloe to look at your fucking head?” Gavin said in exasperation. “Did you forget what literally just happened? I’m not leaving you here.”

He turned away and pulled Nine up the steps before he could continue to protest. The door was propped open, letting the breeze actually move through, gently rustling the numerous job postings and wanted posters all over the walls. The post office was neat and tidy inside, the bare wooden counter holding only a brass cash register. Rows and rows of shelves lined the back wall from the floor to the ceiling, and propped up against it was a ladder with a man all the way at the top.

Gavin cleared his throat as he looked up at him. “Got a letter to mail,” he said by way of greeting, and the man turned slightly to look down at him. He was young, too, though not as young as Chloe. His dark hair was tied back at his neck, his equally dark eyes trained on Gavin before they slipped over to Nine beside him. Nine stared right back.

“He can’t be in here,” the man said, not unkindly.

“Just had a couple of people harassing him outside,” Gavin said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

The man sighed and cocked his slender hip out to the side. “Alright, lets do this quickly. The boss is out right now but you best be gone when he returns.”

He climbed down the ladder, all long legs and strong arms, his nice back and _very_ nice ass to Gavin as he made his way to the ground. Gavin leaned on the counter, pretending he wasn’t looking. When he and Tina had been traveling together, they had occasionally thrown away their mission and drank away the night at a seedy saloon, each of them disappearing with a stranger until the next morning. Since Gavin had captured Nine, he hadn’t thought much about anything else, nor did he have the time or privacy to even consider getting laid. But he could think about it. He could certainly think about it.

“Alright,” the man said, wiping his hands on a rag as he reached the counter. “A letter mailed you said, yes?”

Gavin fumbled in his pocket and then slapped the envelope down. It seemed like years ago that he had written it, back in that seedy cabin, before everything, and the parchment had rumpled and softened slightly in his pack. But it was still intact, the ink still clear and legible, Elijah Kamksi’s address scrawled on the front in Gavin’s scratchy handwriting.

The man took the letter then turned back around the shelves, rifling through other papers and documents and boxes for god knows what. Gavin wasn’t really sure, but he found himself resting his elbow on the counter, admiring the view. Nine stood silently next to him, his eyes flickering between the two men.

It was a simple transaction, one that months ago Gavin would have stretched out, leaning closer, talking sweeter. Maybe he would have slept the night in a stranger’s house, instead of doctor’s office. This time, he paid for the letter’s delivery, tipped his hat to the man, and then led Nine back outside, leaving behind an odd feeling he couldn’t recognize and didn’t care to.

Gavin immediately started sneezing, and once he recovered, he said, “Think the doc is gonna cook for us? I’m half starved.”

“I have a solution to your financial hardship,” Nine said.

Gavin stumbled to a stop, nearly dropping the tobacco he had pulled from his pocket and Nine’s rope along with it. He couldn’t help it - Nine speaking those words was enough to get his mind churning. He grabbed a fistful of Nine’s shirt and marched him off of the porch, closer to the horses and away from the open door.

“Alright, it better not be selling that mink coat, ‘cause I want it,” Gavin said. “Go ahead and spill.”

“Lou Burns seems to be operating in this area,” Nine’s voice was clipped and efficient, as icy as his eyes. “According to the posting on the wall inside, he is wanted for the assault and robbery of two women at an outpost fifteen miles down the Gunnison, as well as bank jobs in Kannah and Orchard Mesa. There is a thousand dollar reward for each crime.”

Gavin stared at him. Eventually he closed his mouth to another cough. The last time he had seen Lou Burns, he had been riding off with Nine into the woods, leaving Gavin bleeding on the side of the river on the outskirts of Oregon.

“That fucking bastard,” Gavin croaked. “What the hell is he doing in Colorado?”

“I have not seen him in nearly two years,” Nine said, “but the last I heard of him, he was laying low outside of Tierra Amarilla.”

“Yeah, that clearly didn’t last long.” Gavin frowned, finally popping his cigarette between his teeth and taking a long drag, considering. Nine’s brow furrowed as he watched him. “Can’t believe you spotted that fucking shit across the room.”

“I am not surprised you didn’t notice it, given your eyes were so far up that man’s asshole.”

“Fuckin’ excuse you,” Gavin sputtered.

“Fortunately I was not distracted,” Nine said, continuing on despite Gavin’s muttered protests. “It appears as though the poster was recently hung. Knowing Lou, he is most likely still in this region, and most likely close by. He has a tendency to linger.”

“Well, _you_ got rid of him eventually,” Gavin said, his face still red. “I honestly kind of figured you had killed him.”

“It probably would have been better,” Nine said, almost quietly, almost regretfully, “if I had just shot him when we met.”

“Alright,” Gavin said after a minute, not wanting to agree aloud. He felt strange - a little shamed, a little annoyed, a lot intrigued. He put his hands on his hips, squinted up at the sun, then at Nine, letting the cigarette smoke build up in the air between them. What a fuckin day.

“I am suggesting you capture him,” Nine said.

“Yeah, I got that.” Nine’s rope felt heavy in his hand. He hesitated, his mouth suddenly dry and thick with more than his persistent cold. “You got any insight on where to start?”

Not even a bandana could hide the grin that took over Nine’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crazy - Gnarls Barkley (Glass Animals cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNdl7wSzQ2I)
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> <3 Love y’all so much <3


	15. you could let it all go, you could let it all go

Hank had lived through a lot of miserable days in his life. Death and divorce, war and wildfires; floods, droughts, illness, and prisoner after prisoner delivered to sheriff after sheriff, followed by, as always, a return to Covington and to his shitty little cot in the shitty little stable house. Hank had spent his whole life taking one step forward and then about a dozen steps back, over and over and over. Of course, this trip would turn out no different.

Each day that passed after North’s failed escape left Hank wanting to stage an escape of his own. God dammit, this was why he was supposed to follow the rules. This was why it was frowned upon to let them out of the wagon so much, to eat with them, to joke around with them, to fuckin’ wash their hair and let them have some fucking dignity. It could complicate shit. Hank knew that, of course; he had always known. He just hadn’t really had to care, until now. 

Things were muddled up with everyone. Their ill-fated gang had undeniably drawn into themselves, and while Hank had expected them to retreat into their companionship, that too had been left behind at the riverside camp. The four of them looked at Hank with resigned, silent faces, deathly serious, all of them waiting for some kind of punishment. Not that Hank would have ever given it. He knew North’s choice had been her own, and it was clear that the others had expected it about as much as Hank had. There was no use in lashing out, or in worrying about their intentions. There was a tension between them that Hank could have bitten into. Their usual late-night whispers and laughter from the wagon were mysteriously absent. Sometimes Hank would hear bursts of agitated conversation, but they always ended quickly. By the way Connor would grow tense in his saddle, glancing at Hank, he knew Connor heard them too.

And Hank just - couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep because Connor didn’t sleep, because Connor rode Daisy all day, and all night too if they stayed on the trail. He didn’t sleep because Connor was always awake, always working, always watching. Sometimes he nodded off in his seat, his chin dropping to his chest and Daisy’s reins slack in his hands, and Hank would just let him be. Connor’s exhaustion, confusion, determination - it was written all over his face, plain as the sun, and every time Hank looked at him, he heard Connor’s words in his mind -  _ I want to talk to you. _

But Hank didn’t want to talk about much, and even _if_ he wanted to, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Sure, they discussed things of importance, things like the route ahead, the weather, the wellbeing of the gang and of the animals. But there, it ended. Neither of them argued or apologized; they just silently split their nights taking watch, divvying up their duties for the day with clipped conversations that Hank both dreaded and hoped would stretch on. Connor hadn’t pulled another stunt like taking the prisoners out alone, and though he insisted on the two of them doing it together, once it was over they would part ways and return to their individual tasks. No more long nights talking by the fire; no more indulgent breakfasts; no more warning Connor not to start spouting off Swiss Family Fucking Robinson, those absolute pricks. Not that he tried to anymore.

Hank really, really hated that book. At the same time, he gladly would have let Connor read it aloud to him a thousand times over if it would have smoothed away the suffocating silence between them all. But Hank didn’t ask, and Connor didn’t offer. And so, they continued on towards the outpost.

 

~

 

After half a week of misery Hank woke up to Connor staring at him.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, startling up from the bench where he had fallen asleep sitting down. Sumo kept snoring. 

Connor was standing next to Daisy with her reins in his hand, both of them ready to go. The sun just beginning to hint at rising, still closer to midnight than dawn, uncharacteristically early even for Connor. The sky above them was the same bruised color as the skin under Connor’s dark eyes, though he looked fresh otherwise, cleanshaven, his hair still a little damp. “I’m going to ride ahead,” he said.

“The hell you are,” Hank muttered, squeezing one eye shut, then the other. “Sun ain’t even rise yet.”

“I heard gunshots,” Connor said, and _ that _ made Hank sit up straight.

“Fuck,” Hank said. He squinted and swept a hand through his hair. “When was this?”

“Less than an hour ago,” Connor said. He pointed down the trail away from them. “Two shots, from the west.”

“I didn’t hear shit.” Hank eyed him. “My ears must be going.”

“You’re exhausted, Hank.” The sudden quiet in his voice made Hank take pause.  “I’m not surprised you slept through it.”

“If I’m exhausted, what does that make you?” Hank shook his head and sighed. “You know what, don’t answer that.”   


Connor bowed his head slightly, looking up at Hank and closing his mouth, looking chagrined. He turned Daisy’s reins around and around in his hands. Hank cleared his throat, continuing without the edge to his voice, “Well, it could be somethin’, that’s true enough. But it could’ve just been some hunters near the outpost. Could be nothin’ at all, if you haven’t heard or seen shit since then.”

This seemed to make Connor relax slightly. “It does seem like they’re long gone, whatever happened. But it wouldn’t hurt to investigate.”

It was about as agreeable as they’d been to each other in days. Hank knew Connor had a point; there was value in scouting out the area. But Hank wasn’t sure it was the best choice. They had been lucky to only rarely pass by other caravans, and never anyone unsavory, at least not so far. Sometimes they were families going to settle further west, sometimes they were merchants transporting their cargo. This particular route had been chosen for its relatively safe passage. As Hank knew, anything could happen at any moment. But it wouldn’t be any more beneficial for it to happen to them separately.

He blinked and focused back on Connor. He was clearly ready to just hop into the saddle and take off. Hank felt the sudden overpowering feeling that there was no way in hell he was letting that happen.

“Now, hold on,” Hank said, shaking Sumo awake, “you’ve been up nearly all night. “

“I want to do it,” Connor said. “You keep riding. I’ll head out to the outpost and then double back.”

“Fuck no,” Hank said, talking over Connor’s protest, “we should just keep going with the wagon, ‘cause if some shit happens, I’m just going blind up the trail, and you’d be completely alone.”

“I am perfectly capable of being alone.”

Hank paused. Connor had a strange look on his face, like he was surprised by his own words. Hank found they stung more than they were probably intended to. He wanted to snap right back, to argue, but instead he just exhaled and said through gritted teeth, “I’m not saying otherwise, kid. I’m saying right now it’d be better if we acted like partners instead of - whatever the fuck we’re acting like.”

He refused to be the first one to look away, not this time. He held Connor’s gaze until he finally replied, “You’re right, Hank.”

Hank didn’t say anything to that. He felt like all the wind had been taken out of him, like he hadn’t slept at all, actually. He had anticipated more of an argument, and its heavy reminder was still strung between them, the tension dragging them down to the ground. Hank still wasn’t sure how to go about fixing it. He wouldn’t admit how much he missed it, how easy things had been. How easy it had been to deal with the quartet in the wagon, how easy it had been to talk to Connor about everything from soup to stars to dogs to bees and everything in between. How easy it had been to look at him, in the firelight, or the moonlight, or the sunlight -  _ what the motherfucking hell, _ Hank thought, his face hot, physically wiping his hands across his jacket like he could wipe the thoughts away. 

He steeled his focus back to Connor. “Come on, then,” he said gruffly. “Let’s pack up and hit the trail.”

 

~

 

The sky warmed over their campsite as they prepared to go. The gang was as quiet as they had been the last few days, going along with their usual morning routine. Hank was sure they heard at least some of he and Connor’s earlier conversation, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask.

Before he locked them back up in the wagon, Hank paused and caught Markus’s eye. “Connor heard gunshots from further west,” Hank said. “Might run into some trouble later on, might not. I think it’s all clear, but it’ll be best to stay calm and not draw attention to ourselves. Might make the wrong person mighty curious.”

“I heard them, as well,” Markus said, nodding towards Connor.

“Well fuck, I really must be getting old then,” Hank muttered. “Just keep quiet and we’ll be at the outpost by afternoon.”

“This is a safe route,” Markus said. “But if my memory serves me, there are quite a few well-known gangs operating in the desert southwest of here.”

It was the most Markus had said to them since it had happened. Since he had interfered, since he had put himself in between Hank and his own companion. The man with the two souls. Hank was starting to believe it.

“There is no place completely free from danger,” Markus added.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Hank muttered. “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.”

 

~

 

After splitting a pot of coffee in relatively uncomfortable silence, Hank and Connor put out the remains of their campfire, loaded up the last of their things, and got the oxen back on the trail. The cool, breezy dawn warmed over to a hot morning, with just enough clouds drifting across the sun to make it bearable. Hank shrugged his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up, his neck hot under his hair. It really was too long. Not that he’d consider cutting it now, if it really did look fine after all. Hank stole a glance at Connor, riding ahead of the oxen, who despite his night without sleep seemed to be in decent spirits. He always looked - fine. It was mystifying. 

Just for a moment, Hank wished there was someone around, someone like Fowler or Jimmy, someone to give him some good fuckin’ advice and set his head straight. The only other person who did that recently was Connor, and hell if Hank was gonna take that route. He glanced at Sumo, momentarily entertaining what the old dog’s suggestions would be. Probably roll around in the grass, eat a fucking steak and sleep it off. And he’d probably tell Hank to do those things with Connor. That traitor. He was always on Connor’s side.

Hank got himself riled up thinking about his traitorous dog and what terrible advice he would give, and spent the rest of the morning glowering towards the horizon. It would’ve been a perfect day for the gang to walk along the trail, but Hank just couldn’t bring himself to take that step. Maybe he just didn’t know what to say to anybody.

For hours, they kept their eyes scanning the flat, grassy plains around them, no sign of anybody for miles and miles. And then, just before noon, they spotted it - the unmistakable ivory cap of a covered wagon, bright in the sunlight a ways down the trail. Connor noticed it too, turning back to look at him, if only briefly. “Looks like a family’s wagon,” he said. “I wonder if they heard or saw anything.”

“Sure seems like they’re traveling slowly. We’ll overtake them in a bit of time, at this rate, and then you can ask your questions.”

“I intend to.”

“Alright, smartass,” Hank said, maybe a little too fondly for how their recent conversations had been. “I don’t want to see you interrogating some scared old man. Lord knows I get enough of that already.”

Connor just glanced over his shoulder at that, but Hank still caught the little smile that curved up his lips.  


It was as they drew closer to the wagon that they spotted the birds. They fluttered around with the breeze, spreading out into the grass but not straying too far. Their white bodies whipped into spirals along with the wind, swooping through the air and across the ground. There were hundreds of them. Hank was no great fan of the creatures, especially not a group of them that size. Why the hell were they gathered over there?

“That is unusual,” Connor said, troubled. He had slowed Daisy down to ride alongside the wagon, closer to Hank.

“Connor,” Hank eventually said as he squinted down the trail, “I don’t think those are birds.”

They were books, or at least, they had been books up until recently, and now their ripped pages floated through the air like a flock of aimless doves. This didn’t make Hank feel any better, but it did answer quite a few of his questions. Once they came up to fully look upon the wreckage, it was easy to piece together what had happened here. Hank pulled the oxen to a stop a dozen or so feet away.

“Who did this?” Connor said quietly. Daisy skittered about, her hooves leaving dirty smudges on the paper laying across the ground. It wasn’t just paper, either, there was silverware and broken china and clothing strewn all through the grass and dirt. The wheels of the wagon had been popped off and smashed, the canvas covering sliced through. Just gutted and abandoned on the side of the trail. There was no blood, no bodies Hank could see, thank god for that. But still not a very hopeful sight.  


“A bunch of sons of bitches, that’s for sure,” Hank muttered. For reasons he wasn’t sure of, he hesitated in urging the oxen forward. “Let’s look around. Doesn’t look like anybody’s still here, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

“I hope no one was hurt,” Connor said. He was frowning deeply as he dismounted Daisy and joined Hank and Sumo in exploring the chaos. “If there’s nobody here, then - “

“No sense in thinking about it,” Hank said sharply. “Maybe they continued to the outpost on foot.”

“Maybe,” Connor said. The heavy weight had descended between them again, the choking despair of the scene around them. “Or maybe the men who robbed them did, and they’re waiting for us there.”

“No respectable thief hangs around an outpost for too long,” Hank said, adding, “We can stay there for a day or two, if you’d like. Just to be sure.”

Connor crouched down, examining an unbroken tea cup on the ground. He picked it up, cradling it in his palms, and turned to Hank. “Maybe, we should clean up some of these things,” he said. “Bring them along with us, just in case we run into somebody.”

“We don’t have the space, kid,” Hank sighed, though he was thinking about the two crates they had in the back of the wagon, previously full of food rations. Even if there was a chance it wasn’t safe, they really needed to get more supplies, but until then they were empty. Hank sighed again, turning around to find them without another word. It wouldn’t hurt, either way, he supposed. He took the moment inside the wagon to check on the gang and give them some food, but that was about the extent of it, and Hank reemerged with the empty, dirty crates, handing one to Connor without another word.

The idea certainly did seem to lighten up Connor some, and together they cleaned up the trail as best they could. Hank kept one eye on the horizon, just as Connor did, waiting for some sign of other travelers, well meaning or otherwise. But there was none; no more gunshots, no more wagons. Eventually their crates were filled and what they couldn’t carry was piled neatly in the remains of the wagon, in the event somebody returned for it.

They still had a few hours of sunlight, and Hank wanted to make it to the outpost before dark, especially if there were still people lurking around. Despite what he said, he wasn’t entirely sure things were safe just yet. The sight of the torn-up books fluttering through the air had shaken some strange deep part of him. It wasn’t a logical or reasonable thing to do; it was indulgent in its aggression. Hank could never get behind shit like that. It was like beating your prisoners, like killing someone because they looked at you wrong. Just completely and utterly unnecessary.

Hank took his place at the front of the wagon, moving slowly and thoughtfully, a dark feeling settling on his skin. Connor sat in his saddle, waiting, but even once Hank signaled he was ready, Connor didn’t move.

“I hate this,” he said abruptly.

“Hate what, this job?” Hank said with a humorless laugh. He instantly regretted saying it.

“No,” Connor said, staring at him, and then back out towards the wrecked wagon. The breeze had slowed some, and the pages nearby had slowed their flight, settling on the ground, dead. “All this cruelty. I hate it.”

“You and me both, kid,” Hank said after a moment. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

 

~

 

There was someone at the outpost after all, indicated by the column of wood smoke rising from its chimney. Hank was glad they made it before dark, if only just. Hank had plenty of money to shell out for a hot meal, some booze, and a couple of real beds to sleep on. Connor had assured Hank this was one of the better places. There was a huge trading post maybe a week’s ride north that Hank had been through before. But it was too far out of the way to consider, and so this smaller stop would have to do.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the big, dark-wooded cabin, at least from the back, and Hank stopped the wagon close by, looking and listening. There were two horses tied up outside on the side of the building closest to them, and the light of a fire in the hearth inside. Voices carried out over the grass, at least one man and woman, lifting through the open windows.

Connor was nervous, but agreed things seemed safe enough. They kept their pistols at the ready as they approached, though, and by the time they pulled up next to the cabin, the voices inside the building had stopped. Nobody came out to greet them, though.

Hank heard Connor say something quietly into the window of the wagon; Markus’s seeming agreement; then Connor closing things up and dismounting from Daisy. “I’ll go around front first,” Connor said to Hank. Hank didn’t argue; one of them should stay with the wagon until they knew it was clear.

“Take Sumo with you,” Hank said, urging the dog off the bench beside him.

Sumo, looking wounded at his interrupted nap, shuffled off the wagon and joined Connor on the ground. Connor just nodded to him and moved around the front of the cabin, focused and quiet. Hank followed with his eyes until Connor disappeared around the curve of the porch, around the overgrown bed of wildflowers along the length of the cabin. 

There was a sudden burst of voices, one unfamiliar man and Connor, calm as ever - then Sumo barking, and Hank was off the wagon and striding around the building about as fast as his legs could carry him, already drawing his gun from his holster.

As he circled around the building, Hank saw Connor standing at the foot of the steps, and a young, thin man with a terrified face at the porch above, holding a gun in his right hand. It was pointing down towards his feet, but the sight of it anywhere near Connor still left Hank in a near-panic.

“Who is that?” the stranger demanded, gesturing towards Hank with his free hand. Hank could see it was trembling.

“Just my partner,” Connor said, his voice soothing. “We mean no harm. Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes,” the man said. No, closer to boy than man, Hank could see. He was several years younger than Connor and scared absolutely shitless, and he was lying.

“We really need to get some supplies,” Connor continued, raising his voice only slightly. “Are you the person who runs this outpost?”

The kid paused. “Yes.”

Suddenly the front door swung open, and a woman emerged into the long shadows on the porch, drying her hands on a dishrag. She had a round, drawn face, a mother’s face, kind but with too many sad memories. She had the same determination etched into her that this young man did, though, that was sure, and she stepped up next to him, putting a hand on his arm.

“Forgive my son,” she said in a voice that matched Connor’s in tone. “He’s a bit shaken up by the sight of strangers.”

“No harm done, ma’am,” Hank said, reholstering his gun and stepping forward. He noticed Connor did not do the same. “Are you the proprietor of this business?”

“No,” she said. She looked troubled. “There was no one here when we arrived earlier today. It looked almost abandoned inside.”

“Oh, god fucking dammit,” Hank swore. He couldn’t help himself. “Apologies, but we are running quite low on rations, food and otherwise.”

“Well, there are still some things left I found in the cellar,” the woman said, looking down at him. Hank knew she was wondering whether she could trust them or not. Hank was wondering the same thing. He reached out and laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder, grounding him, nodding at him, and after a moment Connor nodded just-so, and put his gun away.

The mother and son relaxed slightly, though he especially still looked nervous as all hell. Connor was no better, suddenly. The two men eyed each other while Hank cleared his throat.

“Excuse our manners, been a long trip. We haven’t been properly introduced,” Hank said. “Name’s Hank Anderson, former US marshal and current, uh, cargo hauler, and this here is my partner, Connor. And then Sumo, of course.”

“No offense taken, we’ve had a bit of bad luck recently and aren’t in the best of shape either,” the woman said honestly. “Rose Chapman, and my son, Adam.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Hank said, because Connor still wasn’t saying anything, just looking at Rose with a strange expression.

“US marshal, hm?” Rose said, putting her hands on her hips as she contemplated him. “Is that so?”

“Former,” her son corrected.

“Regardless, I know a thing or two about bad luck,” Hank said, adding casually, “I also know a thing or two about a busted up wagon down the trail. That sound familiar to you all?”

By the sudden way both of their faces dropped, a heavy burden falling down over their shoulders, Hank understood.

“Who did it?” Hank asked, echoing Connor’s words from earlier.

“Strangers,” Rose said with a shrug. “God damn thieves. Didn’t find what they were looking for, so they tossed up all of our things, cut the ox loose and left.”

“In which direction?”

“Back south, where they had come from.” Hank and Connor exchanged a look. “You see anybody?”

“No,” Hank said. “Just the sorry sight of your wagon. My apologies.”

“We’re headed up north, way up north,” Rose said with a deep sigh. “We shipped some things up, but everything else we owned was in that wagon.” She squeezed her son’s shoulder, her eyes far away. “No sense worrying over it now. We just have to keep going.”

“Well,” Hank said, glancing at Connor again, “there was a lot of stuff scattered all over the trail - couldn’t get it all, but we picked up some of it, just in case.”

“Just in case?” Rose looked between them, like she wasn’t quite sure what to believe.

“Just in case we ran into you,” Hank said. “And wouldn’t you know it.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rose said with a surprised smile. “Good men are still alive and well in Oklahoma. Why don’t we all step inside and have some coffee before we do much else? I found a bit in the cabinet earlier.” She turned off, ushering her son ahead of her, though he cast one last suspicious look back towards them. 

“Great,” Hank said after them, patting Connor on the back, though he paused when he saw the look on Connor’s face. “What’s wrong, kid? Other than, you know, the usual.”

“Nothing, Hank,” Connor said. He smiled, something Hank usually loved to see, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” Hank said quietly, keeping his hand there on Connor’s back, warm through the damp fabric of his shirt, suddenly not wanting to go inside at all.

Connor made no move to go up the steps either. They looked at each other for a moment before Sumo barked, breaking the silence, and then they hurriedly stepped away, Hank’s hand falling from Connor’s shoulder. He cleared his throat.

Hank said, “We’re gonna be fine. I think we can trust ‘em. At least for tonight.” He raised an eyebrow at Connor. “We’ll take care of the gang once we get settled. You sure you’re alright?”

“Of course I am,” Connor said, and there was that smile again, sad and unsure. Hank wanted to wipe it right off of his face. Instead he followed Sumo up the porch and into the cabin, and Connor was just a step behind, his arm reaching ahead of Hank to hold the door open for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [It's Called Freefall - Rainbow Kitten Surprise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2WDdccgaDY)


	16. thinking about the days that used to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad this chapter took me so long but I have to shamefully admit that Game of Thrones destroyed my last remaining brain cells and I am only now recovering. Anyway, enjoy this long chapter I really didn't want to split into two parts, love yall and thanks for riding along!

“What towns again?”

Gavin stared down at the map spread out on Chloe’s kitchen table. He had already marked off Whitewater with a pushpin, sticking the paper into the wood beneath, holding it there. She had disappeared into her office with the door half-open, occasionally returning to the kitchen for another cup of tea and leaving Gavin and Nine to their schemes as the afternoon sun trickled through the open windows. Gavin himself had lost track of how many cups he had had. All he knew was that he felt better than he had in days.

He looked at Nine impatiently.

“I hope you can read, as I cannot easily point,” Nine said, lifting his wrists to display the rope that tied them together.

“Very clever, dipshit. Gavin Reed, can’t read a fuckin’ map of Colorado. You got me on that one.”

Nine raised his eyebrow in that way Gavin had come to recognize as amusement. In the privacy of Chloe’s house Gavin had pulled his bandana off, letting him speak freely. “Orchard Mesa,” he said, and Gavin stuck a pin in that one, “Kannah,” another, “and the Gunnison River outpost.”

“Fifteen miles south,” Gavin muttered, repeating Nine’s words from before.

“Yes,” he said after a pause. “You remembered?”

“I remember everything you say,” Gavin said. “Going over it again helps me sort it out.” He stared down at the lopsided triangle formed by the pins. “So chances are he’s in this area here.”

“Yes,” Nine said. “Chances are.”

“I’m not tryin’ to waste anymore time. I’ll collect the bounty in Kannah when we keep going south.” He tapped on the spot on the map as if to emphasize his point.

“I doubt he’s much further northeast of there,” Nine said.

“Good.” Gavin crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “So what’s your master plan, here? Other than just the good old find the fuckin’ guy.”

“We should locate his camp,” Nine said matter-of-factly. “Of course that is the first logical step. Lou is like your friend Perkins. He doesn’t like to travel with a lot of company, but he will occasionally link with a handful of others.”

“That conniving fuck isn’t my friend,” Gavin snapped, though it broke off into a sudden laugh. “He’s not yours either, after you spit in his fuckin’ face, you crazy asshole.”

Nine shrugged his little shrug. “Well, a little spit is unfortunately not going to be enough to slow Lou down. You recall what he was like, I’m sure.”

Of course Gavin remembered what it had been like, following the two of them years ago. Lou was smart in some of the right ways, but dumb as fuck in others. Mostly, he just didn’t care if anyone was tracking him; he’d either end up fighting them or outrunning them, and clearly he had succeeded until this point. He was a big man, but pathetic, throwing his weight around, knowing people in little podunk towns like this one wouldn’t fuck with him. Gavin had been surprised, when Nine teamed up with him, at least at first. But Nine had a history of falling in with people who were not nearly as smart as he was. Gavin wondered why, and then glowered momentarily at the thought that he might be lumped into that category. But hell, he had captured him, hadn’t he? He reckoned it was entirely different. They weren’t traveling _together,_ not in the same way.

“Lou doesn’t trust his own men, no matter who they are,” Nine was saying, “so if we can attract his attention, he’ll come to us alone.”

“And how do we attract his attention?”

Nine tilted his head back, looking at him, expression suddenly sharp. “With me.”

“Fuck all that,” Gavin said immediately. “What the hell do you even mean with that shit?”

“If he hears I’m nearby, he’ll look for me, certainly he’ll want to kill me,” Nine said. “And when he sees I am with you? Even better. That will truly set him off.”

“Why the hell does he want to kill you again? You two were peas in a pod, weren’t you?” At the very least, they had teamed up against Gavin, leaving him bleeding out by a creek in Wyoming and disappearing into the wilderness together.

“His reasons are none of your concern,” Nine said, clipped and efficient as he lectured, “and no, we were not. Lou knew that area better than I did and so he was useful to me.”

“But what does he have it out for me? Didn’t you say this was gonna be easy?”

“He dislikes you simply because you are you. He also thinks you are dead.”

Gavin choked on his tea.

“Additionally I never said this would be easy,” Nine continued, “I simply said I have a solution - “

“He thinks I’m dead?” Gavin sputtered. “Why?”

“Reed, the last time he saw you, I had shot you in the middle of the woods,” Nine said. “Of course he thought you died.”

“Did you think that?”

Nine paused, and when he answered, it was almost - hesitant. “It certainly appeared that you had.”

“Well, well, I don’t go down so easy,” Gavin said. He patted his side. “You did me good, though. You saw the scar. Looks real fucked up.”

“Yes,” Nine said. He looked troubled. “It does.”

Gavin felt the need to change the subject. “Now, how the fuck do I know this isn’t some elaborate ruse here?” Gavin said for about the hundredth time since they had first begun plotting. “How do I know you and Lou aren’t about to gang up on me and cut my head off?”

“Because he despises me, and the feeling is mutual.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Gavin wasn’t sure why, but he believed him. He’d just rather keep asking than ever admit such a thing out loud. “If things go bottoms up, you’ll end up in someone else’s hands, and they may not be quite so hospitable.”

“Hard to imagine anyone as hospitable as you are, Reed.”

“Fuck off.” Gavin stared at the map. “Did it say on the poster where he was last spotted? I’m not trying to take a month searching for this fuck.”

“The outpost attack was the most recent, only six days ago,” Nine said. “We should start there. I would bet he is west of there laying low.” His brows were drawn together, thinking. “The Gunnison River Trail is fairly well worn. He may be planning to target other travelers along that route. He surely expects the sheriff or marshals to arrive soon, but until then he will run the area dry.” Nine turned his head, casting his eyes up to Gavin. “He won’t expect you.”

“It’s in our favor that I can take him by surprise.” He scratched at his chin, meeting Nine’s intense gaze. He hated to admit it, but as risky as it was, the idea of using Nine as some kind of bait was a good one. He was annoyed he hadn’t thought of it first. “We should try to track down one of his lackeys. You know, somebody young, gullible, if we can find them. Show you off and send him running back to tattle about it.”

“Lou will wonder whether the tale is true or not,” Nine said, picking up the thread where Gavin had left it. “He will not be able to resist, that I am sure of. He is quite easily manipulated.” He pursed his lips tightly, the side of his mouth twitching as he appraised Gavin. “You should make an effort not to be recognized while we’re traveling.”

Gavin had to agree. “Won’t help any if the little prick shows up crowing about the guy with you and Lou figures it out. Not sure if he’s smart enough, but don’t wanna take any chances.” He touched the bridge of his nose for a moment. His scar was pretty distinctive. Lou might think him dead, but Gavin didn’t want to invite more trouble than necessary.

“Once we’re done with this,” Nine said, “I will not be so bold as to request a reward, but perhaps you should reconsider my suggestion.”

“Which was?”

Nine rolled his eyes. “Shaving my face. Again, I cannot do it myself, as you have probably realized - “

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gavin said. Every time Nine mentioned it, Gavin became more sure he was right, but the idea of going through with it just stopped Gavin in his tracks for some reason. He glanced surreptitiously at Nine, whose eyes were cast down at the map. His Plainview wanted poster depicted a man with short, nicely-kept facial hair, and a long dark ponytail, some strands still hanging in his face. His face had looked broad and intimidating, just like the rest of his body. But it had been many years since then, and many days since their encounter at the snow-covered Idaho cabin, where Gavin saw his target with a cleanshaven face and short hair for the first time.

And now, weeks after Gavin had captured him, he sported a thick, though slow-growing beard, so different from his usual well-manicured appearance. His hair had lengthened somewhat, enough to hang in a mess of curls across his forehead that he tried to smooth back constantly and clumsily, or as close to clumsy as Nine could get. He was thinner, his features sharpened by the long days of traveling and meager meals, his body more angled. He was a handsome man, any person would probably say so, but now he looked more like a beggar than a killer. Hair scruffy, face dirty, clothes hanging looser than ever on his frame. Gavin wondered if Nine was still stronger than he was. In the back of his mind, as his eyes swept over Nine’s forearms, his chest, his shoulders, Gavin was sure of it.

He looked back at Nine’s face, and realized he was watching Gavin, too.

“More tea?” Chloe said from the doorway, making both of them jump.

“What I really need is a hot meal,” Gavin said, avoiding Nine’s look now, his neck burning with embarrassment at getting caught sizing him up. “Any chance you’re cooking?”

“Not for several hours. The church will feed you at no cost, if you’d like.”

“Fuck that,” Gavin scoffed. “I’m not setting foot in a church.” He glanced at Nine, clearing his throat. “What about you?”

“I suppose I do not have a choice, but I would decline either way.”

“Suit yourselves,” Chloe said with a shrug. She busied herself with the kettle as Gavin and Nine waited awkwardly, Nine returning to his study of the map. Gavin felt strange discussing these matters with Chloe in the room. Then, she said over her shoulder, “I can’t disclose details of my patients, but you should know Lou Burns came through this way about two weeks ago.”

“Did he now?” Gavin seized upon the information like a dog. “What else?”

“That’s all I can tell you,” she said cheerfully.

“Thank you, doctor,” Nine said, interrupting Gavin before he could sputter off something disrespectful. “I would love some more tea, by the way.”

Once Chloe had gone back into her office, Gavin hissed to Nine, “She knows more than she’s letting on. Don’t be so soft on her.”

“I am not soft on anyone,” Nine said.

“Well, why she’s nice to you, I don’t fucking know. She must not realize who you are.”

Nine’s posture stiffened somewhat, just for a second, and then he put his hands in his lap. His response ignored Gavin entirely, “If Lou is sick or injured, that is a sign in our favor. That is valuable information.”

“She can’t have been the only one who saw him pass through, that’s for sure,” Gavin said. He frowned, his eyes wandering out towards the window, the little breezy town that was quickly becoming much more exciting than he originally anticipated. When he looked back at Nine, that hard edge was in his eyes again.

Gavin chugged down the last of his tea, strongly itching to make the switch to whiskey sooner rather than later. “Already paid for the room here for the night, so we might as well make the most of our time in town, eh?”

“Again, I suppose I do not have a choice,” Nine conceded, “but I am intrigued at Lou’s presence. Aren’t you?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Gavin said with a twist of his mouth. He reached for his tobacco. Nine was looking down at the map, his brows pinched together thoughtfully. Still, there had been an increasingly familiar lightness to his voice, its usual mocking hostility gone as the weeks progressed. Gavin wasn’t sure what to make of it. He knew he had to stay on his toes.

He just tied his bandana back around Nine’s face, and then reached into his pack for another, red and soft from years of use, and made to stuff it in his pocket.

“This bandana has become rather soiled,” Nine said, eyes trailing to the square of red fabric in Gavin’s hand. “But if you have another, perhaps I could wear that instead.”

“Fat chance of that,” Gavin grumbled, finally sticking it in his back pocket. “I might need this.”

“It is a bit fruitless to hide your face after you’ve already paraded around town.”

“I didn’t parade anywhere,” Gavin said indignantly. “You want that dirty thing in your mouth instead? I’d be happy to stuff it in there if it’ll keep you quiet.”

“Would you?” he said quite seriously, his brows arched up.

Gavin elected not to answer that, unsure if he was amused or annoyed. “Come on, let’s get a fuckin’ move on.”

 

~

 

It was a hot, clear day, and most of the residents of Whitewater had retreated to the shade of their porches and homes, waiting for the afternoon to pass. The last couple of hours had gone by quick as anything, but Gavin was dying for a smoke like he hadn't had one in years. He felt jittery all over, nervous and tense and childishly excited all at once. He rolled a cigarette almost as soon as they stepped outside, ignoring Nine's judgmental look.

"You don't think that a bit unwise?" Nine said.

"Unwise?" Gavin took a long drag and blew the cloud of smoke in Nine's direction. He wasn't sure whether Nine was referring to their plan, or to the tobacco. He decided to focus on the latter. "I'm almost entirely recovered."

"How efficient." Nine watched disdainfully as Gavin started coughing and thumping on his chest.

"Anyway, I wanna find those kids from earlier." They started walking back into the center of town. "I bet they'll have some shit to tell us."

"What makes you think they will be willing to talk to you?"

"They're curious about you," Gavin said by way of explanation. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and squinted into the sun. "Everyone is."

"Everyone," Nine said, amused.

"Uh, yep." Gavin gestured towards the general store. "That's where they were messing with you before. Maybe they're hanging around."

But once they got closer, it was clear the trio of wannabe delinquents were long gone. Annoyingly, the general store was closed too, the window all pulled shut, a sign on the door reading that they would open again in an hour. Gavin and Nine stood in front of the building, Gavin frowning sourly. He couldn't even go inside and ask if the owner had seen anything, if Lou had passed through his store.

"What time you think they hung that sign?" Gavin said.

"Presumably, less than an hour ago."

"You know what, forget I asked." Gavin nodded down the street. "Let's keep walking."

The handful of people outside eyed the two of them as they continued into the center of town. Gavin ignored anyone who did; he knew they weren't going to bother him. But the sooner they learned something helpful, the sooner they could return to Chloe's and get this shit started.

"I don't wanna spend the whole fuckin' day looking for these little pricks," Gavin muttered.

"Nor do I," Nine said. "Don't you have an idea of where they might be?"

"Sure," Gavin said. "Do you?"

"Where would you be, at that age?" The sun was strong, beating down onto the town and reflecting off every surface, making the buildings practically glow. Gavin stopped under the shade of a single tree, growing outside the barber's, and looked around at what he could see of Whitewater. The post office behind them; the bar; the butcher; the woods that began right at the southern edge of town, thick and dark even in the blinding sun. Gavin wondered. He took a sip from his flask, considering, remembering years of his life he usually tried to forget.

"I'd probably be looking for some cheap liquor," Gavin finally said. "Whenever we passed through a town I always stopped in the bar, bought whatever shit I could afford no matter how it tasted. You don't care, at that age."

"You and your father were very successful, though," Nine was studying him.

"Yeah, like he would share his money with my ass." It suddenly felt much hotter. Gavin could feel his shirt sticking to his back, feel Nine's clear eyes on him. He was very thirsty. He took another quick sip of his whiskey. "Why the fuck are we talking about my piece of shit father? Let's get the fuck out of here."

Gavin gestured down towards the bar and then took off towards it, making Nine hurry behind him with long steps. He rolled another cigarette, smoking it much too quickly, and as they approached the building Nine slowed, catching Gavin's eye and nodding towards the back of the bar. Gavin could hear a tangle of laughing voices, voices that reminded him of coming out of the general store and seeing Nine surrounded. He was too stubborn to admit he had maybe overreacted, that they really were just kids with their curiosities. But he had come this far; he wanted to get Nine to Plainview alive, no matter what it took. Maybe it was stupid, to hatch this whole scheme, to hatch it _with_ Nine even, as Gavin was beginning to realize he was doing. But they needed to eat. He had to protect Nine, in his way. It would be worth it in the end.

Sure enough, just behind the bar among stacks of empty barrels and crates, a couple of alley cats lingering nearby, there stood the three teenagers from that morning - one tall, one short, and the oldest of the bunch, still no more than fifteen or sixteen, all of them leaping up from their seats, as if they were going to scramble off.

"Excuse me gentlemen, don't mean to cause any trouble," Gavin called out, holding his hands out in front of him, Nine following just behind him. "Just wanted to make amends for earlier, considering we got off on the wrong foot."

"Offer them a cigarette," Nine said quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Gavin was a little annoyed he hadn't thought of that first.

The boys were skittish of their presence at first, but once Gavin rolled a couple of cigarettes and passed them out, they became brash, vulgar and eager to gossip about anything and everything. Gavin let them each have a little sip of his flask, ignoring Nine's huff of derision, vaguely answered their questions about what he was doing with his prisoner, and eventually, once they seemed to have settled down a bit, he asked the teenagers if they had seen any other bounty hunters or criminals come through Whitewater recently.

"You're the first in a month at least," the tall boy said. "Marshals come through every once in a while."

"Lou Burns came through here maybe two weeks ago," the shorter boy piped up. "He's a big motherfucker."

Gavin whistled. "You boys ran into him?"

"Well, we saw him," the tall one said, puffing up his chest. "He was botherin' Frankie, the bartender in there. Cursin' and hollerin' up a storm."

"Yeah, sounds like Lou," Gavin said, exchanging a look with Nine before turning back, "and you, pass that cigarette to your friend, you've holding onto it for god knows how long."

Sheepishly, the boy passed the cigarette to his shorter companion, who took a sputtery drag before saying, "His hand was all bandaged up. He probably saw the doctor, I bet she knows where he went."

"Good idea," Gavin said. "We're just in a bit of a rush to leave town." He reached for his pouch of tobacco, holding it in his hand in front of him. "I'd have the time to smoke another cigarette or two if y'all could tell me the quickest way south. Trying to reach the Gunnison River outpost soon as possible."

The oldest one of the group finally spoke up. "There's a trail that goes down through the woods. It's a decent shortcut, the hunters and trappers take it, we've done it once or twice." He paused, then added, "I reckon Burns prolly took that path out."

"How soon will it get us to the outpost?"

"Two days maybe," he said. "A hell of a lot less than going around."

"Good," Gavin said, rolling the first of three cigarettes for them. "I like the sound of a shortcut."

 

~

 

After parting ways with the enthusiastic but annoying group of kids, Gavin felt much fucking lighter, and it wasn't just all the tobacco he had smoked. He had a target, a destination, an idea of where to go. That was all he needed. And Nine, he needed Nine to cooperate, but that was nothing new.

Their day spent chatting up the strangers left Gavin wanting nothing more than a hearty home-cooked meal. He steered them back towards Chloe's, a spring in his step and another cigarette between his fingers, the sun streaking pink and orange above them. The air had cooled considerably, the insects and frogs were singing. A calm night, before they got back on the trail, searching for Lou. Gavin exhaled into the breeze, glancing up at Nine, finding that the taller man was already watching him.

"Something on your mind?" Gavin asked. He found that Nine's gaze almost stopped him in his tracks, but he found his footing and kept walking, deliberately looking straight ahead instead of at Nine.

He could see Nine shifting his posture slightly before admitting, "I was thinking about what I was doing at their age."

"And what was that?"

"Probably stealing a rich man's horse," Nine said, and Gavin laughed. "Smoking my mother's cigarettes. Like I had been for years."

"Yeah, I started young too." Gavin held the burning cigarette in his fingertips out in front of him, examining it. "Barely gone a day without one since. Don't know how the fuck I'd act otherwise."

"You would get used to it."

"Well, I don't want to," Gavin said stubbornly. "Don't know how the fuck you've survived. I could never - " Never do what you're doing, Gavin wanted to say, but stopped himself before he could continue. Of course Nine was surviving; he almost seemed like he was thriving, sometimes, enjoying this entire situation, enduring it with amusement and patience. Gavin had no idea how, and yet, he supposed if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. Relentlessly continue on.

They arrived back at Chloe's, and sure enough, the smell of food and tea wafted out of the doctor's house, carried on the breeze, and they walked in together.

 

~

 

Once they had sufficiently stuffed themselves and received a stern command from Chloe to have an early night, Gavin had holed himself up in the spare room, with Nine as his only company.

It reminded Gavin of staying at the old doctor’s in Idaho, that first night, when Tina was hurt and Gavin had just gotten Nine under his control. He had put Nine in a chair facing the wall, covering his eyes, too afraid to sleep at first. Now they both sat cross-legged on the ground looking at the map again. Chloe had rolled it up and placed it in the spare room in their absence, and now Gavin resumed tracing the path down the river with his fingertip. The room was dim, lit by one lantern and the remains of the sunset.

Gavin took a long sip of whiskey, sneezed twice and then settled the bottle back in between his legs. Early night, my ass, he thought.

“What those kids said was pretty heartening,” Gavin said, brushing off Nine’s glance toward him. He followed the path down, just as the kids had described, southeast out of Whitewater. It was the perfect place to start.

Nine had his elbows propped on his knees, and he brought his bound wrists up and wove his fingers together so he could rest his chin on them. Thoughtfully, he said, “I must admit, it will be quite satisfying to see him dealt with. I do hope nobody else has caught up to him yet. ”

“Well, town isn’t swarming with marshals yet, so I sincerely doubt it.” He threw back another long swig of whiskey. “Though if anybody gets wind the two of you are in the same proximity, I bet my life they’d be here in a day’s time.”

“Lou would just pack up and leave,” Nine said. “He doesn’t worry about them much. Nor do you, it seems.”

“The hell does that mean?” Gavin cast his eyes up, his fingers paused on the paper below.

“You can outrun them,” Nine said. He was watching him. “In my last encounter with the marshals, I recall you were the the last man standing.”

Gavin had to huff out a laugh. “Yeah, traveling alongside a bunch of stuck up feds trying to find your ass. That was when you first started running with Lou. What a fuckin’ good time _that_ was.”

“How many were there?” Nine mused. “There were only a couple that lasted almost as long as you did, following us.”

“There were six to start,” Gavin said. Of course he remembered every detail of his long journeys following behind Nine. “We all took off from the outpost near Rock Springs. Fucking pricks. They thought they were so fuckin’ high and mighty, bragging about how they’d beat your pretty face in and what they’d each do with the reward money. They thought I wasn’t shit. They let me know it, too.”

“That bothered you,” Nine said.

“Hell yeah it bothered me,” Gavin took another drink and leaned back on his palms, the map forgotten, the conversation coming easily. “I don’t like being told I can’t do something.”

“I see that,” Nine said, and Gavin swore he caught his lip twisting up on one side.

“I did get closer than they did,” Gavin said. He was feeling a little high and mighty himself. “I would’ve caught you guys if you hadn’t fuckin’ shot me.”

“Yes, that certainly disrupted your plan.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” Gavin said. “Lou could’ve just turned around and beat me to a fuckin’ pulp somewhere at any time, and instead you waited until I had you cornered to just - pop out and shoot me from behind a god damned tree.”

He remembered every moment of it, the weeks he had spent giving chase to the two men - only one of them who he really wanted to catch - and the hours he spent luring them into a trap; the bottom of a cliff, nowhere to go but up. He had cut their horses loose; he had Lou’s gun and all of their supplies. And then -

“You had a good plan,” Nine finally said. His voice was measured, careful, nothing on his face to give him away. “And what I had to do was… sloppy.”

“Sloppy, huh,” Gavin said. He tapped his fingers along the neck of the bottle and refused to look away. “Just face me like a man the next time you try to kill me.”

“Next time,” Nine scoffed.

“Oh, don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.”

Nine paused, then said, “I would ask the same of you, but it’s not you who will kill me, not quite.”

“No,” Gavin said. It was arresting, hearing Nine talk so lightly about his own inevitable death, but he couldn’t stop from continuing, “You did this to yourself. You had to have known the law would catch up with you one day.”

“The law,” Nine said, teased almost, “or Gavin Reed?”

Gavin wondered if Nine realized, that this was the first time Gavin had _ever_ heard Nine speak his first name, his full name, and if he realized how it stopped Gavin entirely in his tracks, just like his smile at the cliffside. It was so unexpected it sent him into another coughing fit.

“One and the same, dickhead,” Gavin finally wheezed, swallowing back his rasping with more booze.

“That, I am not sure of.”

Gavin eyed him, feeling entirely off balance. “I’m no criminal.”

“You’re not,” Nine agreed. “But you’re a man, and men play by their own rules.”

A thousand responses burned and then died on Gavin’s tongue. He turned back to the map again, suddenly unable to think straight, maybe drunker than he thought, exhausted from another day of navigating Nine. Sometimes it came so easily; sometimes it felt impossible. They passed the rest of the night in silence.

 

~

 

They rose at dawn the next morning to an empty house. Gavin found a pot of still-hot tea on the stove, a basket of biscuits, and a note from Chloe. “ _Please return if you require medical attention. Best wishes,”_ Gavin read aloud with a chuckle. “That’s comforting.”

“In its own way.” Gavin had half-expected Nine to sit down at the table, but he remained standing, his bandana hung down around his neck. “We should depart as early as possible.”

“Hold your horses, can’t go nowhere without one of these biscuits.” Gavin plucked one out from the basket, then on second thought grabbed another before he could change his mind. “Come on, eat one before we go. Won’t be easy once your face is covered.”

They stood in the dimly-lit kitchen and scarfed their biscuits down. Gavin brushed his hands on his pants, then stepped forward to reach up and tie the usual square fabric around Nine’s face, his hands brushing against the familiar length of his hair. Gavin was sure he he had done this a hundred times, at least.

“Alright, smartass,” Gavin sighed as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his red bandana, “let’s find this fucker. Should make good time with the horses so well rested.”

“We should move slowly,” Nine said. He watched Gavin tie the bandana around his own face, his brow curving up just enough to be noticeable.

“Like looking in a mirror, eh?” Gavin said wryly. He put his hands on his hips. “Wait, what do you mean slowly?”

“Is there a meaning I’m not aware of?”

“We should catch up to these dickheads as quickly as we can, don’t you think?” Gavin studied him, the sharp lines of his face, his guarded gunmetal eyes.  “They passed through here weeks ago. We don’t have time to dawdle.”

“You know as well as I do that there is still valuable information along the trail,” Nine said. He tilted his head forward, as if sharing a secret with him. “We’re not dawdling, simply doing a very, _very_ good job.”

“Let’s cover some ground before we slow down.” His throat felt thick, his voice tight. What the fuck? He didn’t want to give Nine the satisfaction of seeing him step away, so he just swallowed hard and continued. “Once we get further south, it’ll be easier to sniff out Lou and the rest of them. Fresh tracks and all that. I don’t wanna waste time.”

“And what happens if the situation appears particularly dire?” Nine said. “What if we travel further south and run into danger?” The moment had passed; Nine had moved back, standing stock-straight as usual. He seemed not to notice Gavin’s discomfort. It wasn’t fear, exactly. Maybe just the excitement of a new chase. Gavin shook it off, clearing his throat and considering Nine’s question.

“We’d be mighty fuckin’ pleased, as that’s exactly what we’re looking for.” Gavin looped his rope around Nine’s neck. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Nine agreed, and this time, Gavin knew for sure he was smiling, “it certainly is.”

 

~

 

Gavin had never really been one for company. He had grown up practically in solitude, just him and his father and whatever criminal he was hunting after. When Gavin had finally gotten away from him, he had relished in the feeling of being alone, of being free to do what he wanted without fear of consequence. He took on warrant after warrant, flitting around with no roots anywhere, and he liked it that way. He was good at it, too, which was lucky, considering he didn’t know how to do anything else. In fact, he was pretty sure he was one of the best damn bounty hunters in the west, and that’d only be proven even further when he finally showed up to Plainview with Nine in tow.

Up until pretty fairly fucking recently, the notorious Lucky Number Nine had been outrunning and outsmarting him for years. The path of Gavin’s life had been inexorably altered by Nine’s wanted poster, taking him all over god’s green earth and testing the limits of his brain and body. And he had done it alone, mostly at least. Tina had been his longest traveling companion, someone who he both trusted as capable, and liked spending time around - a rare combination. And of _course,_ he goes from her to this, to having the man he hated most in the fucking world by his side day and night. Gavin had always wanted to catch up to him, and while Tina had been right that he hadn’t quite had a plan, his plan certainly hadn’t included _this_ , the two of them tracking somebody together.

Not that they were working together, really. Gavin was working, and Nine was - helping.

After they had sunk a day’s travel down the shortcut trail, the next morning found Nine insistent on walking and insistent on deviating off of the path. Gavin had wordlessly bound his wrists different than usual, leaving a few more inches of space between his hands, letting him move easier. And now Nine was strolling along ahead of Gavin and the horses, grey eyes sweeping back and forth through the woods. Occasionally he crouched down with great purpose to smell some dirt or rub some random fucking tree and then he’d say something like, “There were hunting dogs here”, or he would frown and look at Gavin, nodding into the woods, and they would change course. Gavin followed behind him on Apple, slowly giving Nine more and more slack in the rope as Nine led them along. At first he had walked alongside him, checking what Nine was doing, but it just didn't seem necessary anymore.

Because Nine was _good._ He had them right on course, following the remains of campfires and horse tracks, picking up things that Gavin wasn’t sure he would have seen even if he was still on foot. It reminded him of traveling with Tina, the way he would step to the side and let her work, trusting her knowledge and experience.

It wasn’t that he trusted Nine, but he could see that the man wanted to find Lou just as much as Gavin did, maybe even more. Obviously he wasn’t going to get anything about it, other than extending his life by another couple of weeks. And Gavin couldn’t begrudge having another set of eyes, another set of senses, working towards the same goal he was. Watching Nine in action was - Gavin didn’t want to say thrilling, didn’t want to say intriguing. But that was how he felt, though he would never speak it aloud.

In the evening of their second day on the trail, Nine led them right to a group of trappers traveling north. Gavin was elated to stumble into them, but he knew it hadn’t been blind luck at all. Nine had known they would be here. Gavin made Nine hang back, making himself useful in some way and sweet-talking the tired old men into a discussion about Lou. They had encountered part of his gang further south, and had plenty to spit off about Lou’s pillaging. The locals were becoming increasingly afraid of him, which Gavin hated hearing, and by the way Nine held himself, he could tell the other man felt the same.

“Be careful round these parts,” one of the men warned as they parted ways. His eyes slipped from Gavin to Nine, both of their faces still covered. “You’ve already got your hands full.”

 

~

 

They made camp that night, and Gavin dealt with the essentials - tying up Nine, building a small fire, rolling out his blanket. He didn’t bother with his tent; if they had to leave quickly, he didn’t want to worry about much. Gavin found himself looking at Nine as he stretched out to roll a cigarette, both of their bandanas removed. What would happen, if Lou killed him? It was a possibility, after all. Would Gavin bother collecting the bounty at all? He supposed he would. He supposed he would also probably track Lou down, reward or no reward, and he would probably kill him too.

“Your tea,” Nine said into the darkness, and grumbling, Gavin crouched by the campfire and prepared the kettle.

“Guess you probably haven’t done this in a while,” Gavin said as he puttered around.

“I have not done a lot of things in a while.”

Despite his haggard appearance, he still sat with his posture straight and his chin held high, all the dignity in the world. Gavin wasn’t sure how he managed it.

“I meant tracking somebody,” Gavin muttered, clearing his throat. He settled back into his blanket and his cigarette, a hot cup of tea in his hands. “When was the last time?”

“Ah,” Nine said, humming thoughtfully. “It’s been many months. I was after Molly Sinclair for a time last year.” Gavin made an acknowledging sound. He knew the name; she had killed her husband and stepdaughter to take off with a new lover. “A sheriff took her in, I cannot recall where, unfortunately. A bit of bad luck on my end. I certainly wanted to deal with her myself.”

“You’re not exactly the angel of death here,” Gavin reminded him. “It ain’t your responsibility to deal with these people. It’s mine.”

“Is it?” Gavin could just make out Nine’s features in the firelight. “That sheriff would probably disagree.”

“He’d disagree with you too,” Gavin shot back. “You’re lucky you weren’t the one who got brought in. Just about every city west of here has got a warrant out for your ass.”

“Perhaps,” Nine said. He shifted slightly. “It would have removed me from this situation, which would be quite disappointing.”

“The fuck are you on about,” Gavin muttered.

“Capturing Lou,” Nine said, and he was leaning forward, that secretive look on his face again, making Gavin’s nerves thrum. “It is an exciting prospect.”

“Sure is,” Gavin agreed. He nodded towards Nine, his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. “You think you could overtake him still? If you weren’t, you know, incapacitated.”

“I am absolutely certain of it,” Nine said. “Are you asking for my assistance?”

“Fuck no,” Gavin said quickly, pushing that particular thought to the side. “I don’t need shit from you except to just - stay out of my way.”

“You need me to lure him in,” Nine reminded him.

“Of course I do, that was your genius fucking plan.” Gavin rolled his eyes and drained the last of his tea. “I mean don’t get any funny ideas. I’m not setting you loose to beat on his ass or anything like that.”

“I suppose I will just have the pleasure of watching you do it instead,” Nine said, face impassive as usual.

“You sure will, asshole.” He reached for his whiskey and took a long drink. “Maybe I’ll let you get in a kick or two. You know, for old times sake. Since I’m just so damn _hospitable._ ”

Gavin caught it, the brief smile that curved up over Nine’s face, and before he realized it he was smiling back. He took another sip of whiskey and turned towards the campfire.

They fell into their usual bickering as the night darkened and the moon rose above them. In the morning they broke camp and continued south, Nine leading the way.

 

~

 

The next morning passed without incidence, just further miles down into the woods. The shortcut path out of Whitewater had eventually joined with a beaten-down forest trail, but they left it behind, picking through the woods instead. The trees were easy to navigate between, though the horses weren’t too happy about it, especially the stallion who had to trail behind Apple’s slow pace. He had been in a bad mood, recently, snapping and huffing at Gavin in particular, having realized Apple wouldn’t take his shit. Nine himself didn’t speak much. Gavin didn’t want to ask whether Nine knew where they were going, because it would mean admitting Gavin was relying on him, and he wasn’t about to do that. It was obvious enough.

Gavin gave no thought to passing a full day to just traveling. He let his mind wander, watching the sharp way Nine scanned around them, how he occasionally paused to listen to some sudden sound or feel the way the wind was blowing. He was deliberate, focused. Gavin wondered what his secrets were. He wondered if he could extract some of them, pull them out of Nine’s mysterious brain and hear all of his stories and all of his tricks. Their weeks together hadn’t done much to satisfy Gavin’s curiosity. It had really only gotten worse.

Suddenly Nine stopped dead in his tracks, making the horses dance in place as they stalled behind him. Nine crouched down on the ground, running his hand over the leaves with his back to Gavin. He lifted something towards his face for a long moment,though Gavin couldn’t see what he was doing, and then stood back up. He faced Gavin with clear, certain eyes. “We will likely see them by this evening.”

Oh, yeah. Much worse.

“That soon, eh?” Gavin decided to jump out of his saddle and join Nine on the ground, powerfully curious.  “What makes you so sure of that?”

Nine opened his palm. There was something familiar inside; the damp, burnt off end of a discarded cigarette. Nine pinched it between his fingers thoughtfully. “I have found several of these along the trail, with various kinds of tobacco. But this one is the fifth of this particular brand, all smoked to about the same place and then discarded, indicating someone who traveled alone along this path before us.”

“Great, so we are getting somewhere,” Gavin said, putting his hands on his hips. “And what brand might this be?”

Gavin saw the way Nine’s eyes narrowed and knew he was frowning. “Lucky Strike.”

“Ha!” Gavin barked out a laugh at that. “Lucky indeed, Number Nine. Lucky indeed.”

“It’s an expensive leaf, and not one that Lou prefers,” Nine continued. “Coupled with the lack of sense about discarding the evidence of his presence, I imagine this is one of Lou’s younger followers.”

“New to money, new to cigarettes,” Gavin mused. “Not bad. We’re right on schedule then.” He nodded towards Nine, stepping forward and extending his hand. “Let me see.”

Nine reached out his bound hands and dropped it into Gavin’s open palm. Gavin lifted it to his nose and sniffed it deeply.

“I’ve never smoked these,” Gavin admitted. He tucked the cigarette into his pocket, wanting to memorize everything about it. “I dunno the smell of ‘em like I do ours.”

“Good thing I’m here, then.” His eyes on Gavin felt more focused than usual.

“This is the same way I caught on to you, you know.” Gavin studied him too, wondering if he should even be telling him this shit. “Finding one of your smokes on the trail. I knew it was you instantly.”

“Fascinating,” Nine said, raising an eyebrow. “And here I am, wondering how anyone could make such a silly mistake.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “Me too, you lucky bastard.”

It was some time later, as clouds darkened the sky, that Nine spoke again. “What tobacco do you smoke?”

“What?” Gavin had been examining the woods for a good campsite, lost in his search. But with the threat of rain, he figured where they stood was as good as any, and decided to stop the horses. He focused back on Nine. “Tobacco? Brotherhood. Have for years.” For some reason, he was surprised Nine didn’t know that.

“You must have smoked your share of Four Roses, to recognize it so quickly.”

“I suppose,” Gavin said as he began laying out their things. “That wasn’t the first cigarette you ever dropped, you know.”

Nine shrugged his shoulder up to drag his bandana off his face, just like he had back at the cliffside. He actually looked - mystified. “That is impossible. I was distracted - “

“Distracted, huh?” Gavin grinned to himself while he began setting up his tent. “Were you distracted in Spring Creek? Before the reservoir? Or how about when we were out west, you got just gotten that train car outside Mono Lake, or how about - “

“That is quite enough,” Nine sniffed. He was frowning.

“I’ve been following you for years, you know. Everybody makes mistakes.”

“I am not everyone.”

“Sure,” Gavin said. “You’re right about that. Doesn’t mean you’re not gonna fuck up every once in a while. I’m pretty sure that’s what makes us human.”

“Is that it?” Nine said dryly. “I always wondered what it was.” He had taken a couple of steps forward to stand closer to where Gavin was working, and his horse had moved next to him, laying his head over Nine’s shoulder affectionately. “So that’s one way you tracked me, then.”

“Oh yeah, I have my secret ways, just like you,” Gavin said conversationally. He figured it couldn’t really hurt, telling Nine this shit. “Every town I came through, I’d ask how the smokes were, what other people were buying. I heard the same story at least a dozen times, that their store had been robbed, always right after they got a shipment of fresh tobacco in.”

Gavin put on a mocking tone, “ _But only old ladies smoke Four Roses, what kind of sweet old lady robs a general store?”_

“I have certainly met my share,” Nine said with a little quirk of his mouth.

“Well, they thought you were just about the dumbest old lady they ever met,” Gavin said, glancing at him, remembering. “They always said you left behind a pile of money. Must’ve gotten nervous and dropped it.”

“Yes,” Nine said. “Must have.”

“It’s not easy, you know.” Gavin wasn’t sure when he had stopped, his hands hovering over his tent. “Making a living out here.”

“I know,” Nine said after a moment.

Gavin looked away, feeling like Nine had just confirmed some deep dark secret Gavin had always suspected. He cleared his throat. “Never cared much for Four Roses. Too airy. Though I’ll smoke just about anything.”

“My mother smoked them throughout my childhood, so I suppose I have an affinity for the flavor.”

“See, my pop chewed and it really fuckin’ put me off that shit. Never wanted to touch the stuff.” Gavin put his hands on his hips and surveyed the sky through the trees, wondering if the storm would pass over them, if the trees would be enough to protect Nine from the rain. His tent leaked like a bitch, but it was better than nothing. Not that it really mattered whether Nine was comfortable or not.

He turned back towards Nine and gestured broadly around them. “I wanna build a fire before it starts comin’ down.”

“I hope you are successful.”

“All right, smartass,” Gavin said. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and grab some firewood.”

Nine pursed his lips and stared at him, like he was unsure what to say. “I’m not sure - “

“What, how to build a fire? Good thing I’m here,” Gavin said, unable to stop the smirk that curled up on his face. Nine rolled his eyes and sighed. “You got two hands, tied up as they may be, they still work. Just rustle up some twigs and shit. Might as well, instead of just standing around.”

Nine lingered in place for just a moment, and then reached up and patted his horse’s face, moving away. Gavin had looped his rope around a small tree while he worked, and there was enough slack on it that Nine could pick his way around the campsite. Gavin was surprised, at how easy that had been. Just like Nine looking alongside the trail, helping him. But this all benefitted Nine too, he supposed. He almost smiled, almost laughed even, at the sight of Nine primly picking up wood from the forest floor.

He thought about Nine, who killed without a second thought, yet paid for the tobacco he stole. It didn’t seem to make a lick of sense. And yet, as Gavin finished unloading their things and Nine’s pile of sticks grew, Gavin wondered if it actually did, after all.

The rain came late, after they had eaten and Gavin had broken out his whiskey. He retreated into his tent and the pile of blankets inside, leaving Nine tied to a birch tree just a few paces away. From the entrance to Gavin’s tent, he could peer out and keep an eye on his prisoner. There wasn’t much to see, especially with the rain coming down. Nothing out of the ordinary, but Gavin looked anyway just in case.

In the back of his mind, he knew Nine could be toying with him, trying to gain his trust just enough to take advantage of it. He was well aware this could all be one of Nine’s schemes, that maybe he and Lou actually _were_ in cahoots and Gavin would be overtaken like a fool. Maybe Lou and Nine were secretly lovers just waiting to be reunited, and they’d been conspiring to off Gavin together. Gavin frowned and burrowed deeper into his blankets. Nine didn’t seem like the romancing type. His idea of courtship was probably murdering someone and leaving their dead body on your porch. Not that Gavin cared for the state of Nine’s affections, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. He was fairly certain Nine didn’t have a wife or children or anyone else but himself. Probably for the best. Picturing Nine as a married man with a dozen kids and a chicken coop was downright unnatural.

Gavin could practically hear Tina’s voice in his head. _Don’t do anything stupid,_ she had warned him. And while Gavin didn’t necessarily consider himself a fucking genius, he did trust his own intuition. And something about the determined way Nine moved down the trail, the way his eyes sharpened when he saw a little piece of evidence, the surety to his voice as he spoke about Lou and how much they hated each other. Gavin _did_ trust him, at least on that. And once Lou was in prison and Gavin had his money, things would be simple again, just Gavin and Nine and the rope between them.

The rain was cold and heavy, nothing like the typical hot summer storms that had begun rolling over the landscape as the season reached its peak. Gavin shivered in his blankets. He wished that Apple was a dog he could bring into his tent and curl up next to. He was used to this, being alone, but it was nice to think about.

Unable to sleep, Gavin reached for his tobacco and rolled a cigarette, swearing to himself that he would get some shut-eye after this. He peeked out of his tent to see what Nine was doing. Through the rain, Gavin could see his eyes were closed, his body curled up on itself as close as he could get, sheltered under the tree. Gavin wondered if he would get sick, too. If Gavin would give him some tea and honey and force him to rest, or if he’d make Nine just get back on the trail, like he had at the beginning of their journey, when Nine had been injured. Gavin couldn’t help but feel like he wouldn’t do that again. Things had - they had just changed. He wanted to get Nine to Plainview in one piece, not broken down, not on the verge of death already.

With his cigarette still in his mouth, his judgment just fuzzy enough with whiskey and exhaustion, Gavin grabbed a blanket from his tent and marched over to Nine, throwing it over his body before he could change his mind. He didn’t wait to see if Nine reacted, if he woke up or looked at Gavin or wondered what the fuck he was doing. He just slipped back into his tent and finished his cigarette.

He dreamt about rivers and ropes and rain, about his hands tied in front of him, scrambling in the dirt for a cigarette he desperately wanted to smoke. When Gavin woke up he barely remembered anything, just the itchy, tight feeling that his wrists were still bound. He laid in his tent for a moment and stared up at the fabric above him, soaked through and dripping steadily onto his forehead. Stupid piece of shit.

He threw his damp blankets off of his body and laid there for a moment, uncomfortably wet from the rain and his sweat. He peeled his shirt off and flung it into the rest of his things bunched up at his feet. It was probably late morning already, late for even Gavin to have slept, and while the storm had passed, a light drizzle from the soaked leaves above them gently came down over their campsite.

Gavin scrubbed his hands over his face and crawled out of the tent, tobacco in hand. Nine was exactly where Gavin had left him, of course, the blanket still draped over him, though his legs stuck out comically from underneath it.

“Your tent leaks,” Nine said by way of greeting.

Gavin swiped his hand through his hair and nodded at the birch tree. “So does yours.”

“Aren’t you concerned you may fall ill again?” Nine asked, eyes tracking Gavin as he sat down on a nearby stump to roll a smoke.

He shivered a little in the cool, damp air, but it felt good to be out in the open, free from the stuffy, musty knot of blankets he had slept under. “I’m not worried about myself. Are you?”

Nine leaned his head back against the tree bark. His face was unreadable. “I am invested in your well being.”

“Yeah, well,” Gavin’s eyes deliberately flickered away from the blanket he had thrown over Nine in the night. “I’m invested in yours too, asshole.”

 

~

 

Though usually the rain would have put Gavin into a melancholy mood, he was in better spirits than ever. The storm washed away any foot or hoof prints they may have found, but within the hour Nine had pointed out a relatively recent abandoned campfire, hastily and poorly covered, with another Lucky Strike cigarette only a dozen or so paces away.

Gavin hadn’t retied the bandana around Nine’s face that morning as he usually did. If they were drawing closer to Lou and his men, Gavin _wanted_ Nine to get recognized. Meanwhile his breath felt hot and thick under the red fabric across his own face. The rain had washed away everything except the humidity, and it felt even worse than the thick, hot, damp wool blankets he had slept under. But Gavin didn’t care. He felt good, optimistic, like all of his plans were coming to fruition perfectly. He knew he couldn’t get too comfortable, but it was just too easy to fall into the excitement of the chase.

By afternoon, the sun had dried some of the moisture that laid over the woods, and Gavin had joined Nine on the muddy ground, his skin prickling with the anticipation of finding his target. In the back of his mind, he knew it could be Lou that they stumbled across first - throwing off the entire plan they had cooked up. But Gavin wasn’t much for plans, anyway. The surprise of not knowing, that was part of the thrill, that was what Gavin thrived on.

Just as the late afternoon sun bloomed in the sky over them, Nine suddenly knelt down in the mud and plucked something off of the ground. He turned to Gavin, holding it in the air in front of him. Another cigarette.

“It’s still dry. Almost warm to the touch,” Nine said, reaching his hand out so Gavin could take it and feel for himself. “He must have just ridden through here.”

Gavin grinned, knowing Nine would catch it even under his bandana. “Lucky Strike. He sure picked the right smokes, eh?”

“Indeed,” Nine said with a little smile of his own.

And then, he started screaming.

“Hey, shut the fuck up!” Gavin yelped, doing the first thing that came to mind and pushing Nine over, tottering him to the ground. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I am attracting his attention, as we planned.”

“You’re not attracting shit! I thought we were just tryin’ to stumble across him and have him be on his merry little way to Lou.”

“Well, I assume both you and I can agree that whoever we are following is lacking in common sense,” Nine said matter of factly from where he lay in the dirt. “I want to be sure he understands who I am and that you have captured me against my will.”

“All right, but do you really need to shriek like a fucking owl? God dammit,” Gavin swore. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“My apologies,” Nine said, and then he began shouting once more, still halfway-crouched on the ground. “Get your fucking hands off of me! Don’t you know who I am?”

Gavin stifled his laugh behind a long-suffering sigh, then took a deep breath to yell into the woods, “Shut the fuck up and get moving!”

Nine made to stand up, but Gavin shushed him. “Stay down there,” he hissed. “It looks like I was beating on your ass.”

For a second, he wondered if he should actually do it - Nine looked dirty and neglected, but there was a distinct lack of bruises and blood where you’d usually expect. Gavin shook that thought off about as quickly as it came. Nobody was gonna lay a hand on Nine, not Gavin, not anybody else, until they got to Plainview.

It took a few minutes, but then out in the woods at the furthest reaches Gavin could see, there was a grey flash, the rustling of leaves and hooves, a horse braying and panting with confusion, and through the trees Gavin saw him, a stranger approaching far too quickly.

Nine looked up at Gavin, raising his eyebrow knowingly, and then his face changed, twisting into something sad and pleading as he began to beg in an unfamiliar cry, “Let me go, just let me go.”

Gavin felt dizzy for a moment. He blinked and his voice caught in the back of his throat. Nine had never once done this in the weeks and weeks since Gavin had captured him. And seeing him do it now had Gavin feeling like he really had just taken him, like he was seeing him for the first time.

A gunshot cracked up through the air, scattering birds and squirrels, spooking the horses and Gavin. It was wild and unplanned but best of all, confirmed to Gavin that whoever they had been following was very inexperienced. He drew his own pistol, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. Nine’s eyes tracked him for a moment as he turned down the trail, waiting for the stranger to arrive.

“Do not antagonize him into violence,” Nine said in a low, calm tone as the skittish man on his skittish horse drew into closer view.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m saving myself for Lou, don’t worry yourself,” Gavin muttered. In a louder voice, he called out, “The fuck you think you’re doing out here, son?”

The stranger didn’t answer. His grey horse stalled in front of them, snorting and stepping, while the man looked down with badly disguised unease. “I could ask you the same.”

Gavin gripped his gun and nodded his head towards Nine. “Hunting.”

“Who is he?” Straight to the point, Gavin thought.

“You don’t look like you know much about criminals,” Gavin said.

The young man had a soft, naive look to him, but a sudden confidence overtook him, making him sit up straighter in his saddle. He stared at Nine openly, studying him. “Then you don’t know much either.” He paused, then added a little louder, glancing towards Gavin, “I asked you a question.”

“No need to get hysterical, I’m a traveler the same as you,” Gavin said. “You don’t look much like one of the feds, and if you were a bounty hunter, you’d know we’re not too fond of talking about our work.”

The man squinted at Nine, and then a slow, smug smile drew over his face. “Now, I’m no bounty hunter, but I know I’ve seen this bastard’s poster once or twice.”

“That makes two of us,” Gavin said. His heart was pounding. “Caught him robbing a general store up north. Taking him to Kannah to get some more information, see where the best reward is. Unless you’ll be of some assistance.”

“Can’t say I will,” the man said as his grin grew ever larger. He looked like a man who had just deciphered a great riddle. “No, I don’t think I can help much. I should be leavin’ you to your travels. To Kannah.”

“Yep, that’s where we’re going,” Gavin said encouragingly. He caught the small, stifled huff that escaped from Nine, and was grateful for the bandana that hid his own smile.

“Best wishes, then.” The man tipped his hat with urgency, and then turned his horse off and took off back down the trail, not even hiding his enthusiasm.

Gavin stared after him. After he had disappeared from view and the birds had settled back down, Gavin realized Nine was shaking on the ground.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Gavin blurted out before he realized that Nine was _laughing_.

“He simply went back the way he came,” Nine said, shaking his head. “I would bet my life you could track him all the way to Lou’s camp, if you desired.”

“Well, he didn’t seem too bright, that’s for sure,” Gavin said. He pulled his bandana off now that they were alone and fully gave into his grin. “I hope Lou ain’t this dumb.”

“And why would that be?” His laughter had faded to an amused smirk.

Gavin hauled Nine to his feet and then stepped back so they were facing each other in the middle of the trail. “‘Cause it would make this so _boring._ ”

“You sound like a child,” Nine said, still smiling.

“Yeah, a big, fat, soon to be drunk, soon to be rich child,” Gavin announced. “Let’s get movin’, find a good place to stop. How far you think Lou is from here then?”

“Based on the belongings our dear friend had with him, I imagine he was heading back to the main camp after scouting the area. Those trappers had run into Lou and his gang going south. Lou most likely sent a few men back to see if anyone was following them while he relaxed.”

“Smart,” Gavin said, shaking his finger in the air appreciatively. “I like that. There’s hope for him yet, I’d say.” He felt like he was walking on air. He grabbed his flask and took a long celebratory drink. “Anyway, how long again?”

“I suspect a full day, perhaps somewhat less if our friend is a fast rider,” Nine said thoughtfully. “Lou will probably come quickly once he realizes.”

“Sounds like it’ll be a long night, then.” Gavin tugged the horses forward, electing to walk on the trail with Nine instead of get back in the saddle. He was too keyed up to be sitting, anyway. “Think he’ll try to kill you before I get him?”

“Not immediately,” Nine said. “But it is a possibility.”

“Well, you got all night to pray for your immortal soul,” Gavin said. “You know, just in case.”

“Oh, my soul has long been committed to hell,” Nine said. “Perhaps I’ll pray for yours instead.”

“Eh, don’t waste your time, pretty sure I’m a lost cause,” Gavin said dismissively. He took another sip of whiskey. “Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ pray Lou has a bottle of tequila with him.”

“It would be unusual for him to travel without it.”

“There’s that hopeful spirit,” Gavin said boisterously. “Bet you can’t wait to be rid of Lou, huh? Must be great, knowing he’ll finally be out of your fuckin’ hair.”

“Of course,” Nine said. His eyes were practically twinkling. “I suppose in the grand scheme of things I have little to care about anymore. I may as well allow myself a few more pleasures before I die.”

“God damn, you’re so fucking depressing, forget I asked.”

Gavin eventually picked a spot to build a fire and settle in for the night. He tied Nine to the tree in a different way than usual, leaving his hands bound together in his lap and doing only a few passes of the rope around his chest, just in case they had to leave quickly. He felt like singing, but Gavin just drank instead, rolling cigarette after cigarette. He knew he should stay sober, but he had a good couple of hours in him yet before that’d really be necessary. And so he sat next to the fire across from Nine, all puffed up and full of energy, waving his arms around as they did what they always did - talked a whole load of shit.

They had exhausted of insulting Lucky Strike, as they had dubbed Lou’s man, and instead had turned to Lou himself, laughing as they imagined Lou’s face would look when he heard Nine was in the area, and even better, when he would see Gavin alive.

“That son a of a bitch doesn’t know what he’s in for,” Gavin declared as he rolled another cigarette. “He thinks my drunk ass is rotting somewhere under a tree. No sir, Gavin Reed is alive and well and ready to lock this fool up.”

Nine looked relaxed, his shirt hanging loose off of his collarbone and his face warm from the fire. It was another hot, humid night that left Gavin wanting to strip off his clothes and roll around in a creek. The light breeze moved through the air, just barely enough to keep Gavin sane. He peeled off his shirt and stuffed it in his pack, giving Apple a quick pat before he sprawled back out on his blankets

“You look very ready,” Nine finally commented.

“To what?” Gavin laid on his back and stared up at the stars through the leaves. He ignored the itch to reach for his whiskey again.

“Lock this fool up, as you said.”

“Oh, I’m fucking ready all right,” Gavin said. He turned his head. “Are you?”

“By your orders I am not to do anything but sit back and watch.”

“Fucking right, but you don’t get a little - I don’t know, pang of regret or something when you see a colleague get caught?”

“A colleague,” Nine repeated, mouth curling up on one side. “As if all we thieves and killers are employed by the same company.”

“I know you guys fuckin’ hate each other or whatever,” Gavin said dismissively, “but I don’t know, what do you think? Do you think, better him than me - ? Or something else?”

“I think all men should reap what they sow.”

“Even you?” Gavin leaned up on one elbow, studying him.

“Yes,” Nine said.

“Even your brother?” Gavin pressed. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, as soon as it left his mouth, but he wasn’t about to apologize.

Nine just stared at him. “My brother was a good man,” he said. His voice was controlled, indifferent, though the look on his face told Gavin something else entirely. “Something neither of us know anything about.”

“No, guess not,” Gavin muttered. The air felt even more thick and stifling than before. How quickly it could change, the atmosphere between them. He pushed away any semblance of self-control he still had, and reached for his bottle again, drinking in silence until he finally gave in to sleep.

 

~

 

Gavin had always been a late riser. His father had tried to beat it out of him, forcing him up at dawn no matter what time they had turned in the night before, grabbing him awake when he dozed off. He could ride for days at a time now with little rest at all, but when he did sleep, he slept _hard,_ always with fitful dreams he couldn’t remember much of afterwards, especially if he had been heavily drinking. The ghost of a touch; the echo of a voice. Sometimes they would repeat themselves later, in other dreams, and Gavin would feel like he was floating just beneath the surface of understanding.

That night he dreamt that he was drowning, that there was something thick and stiff around his neck that held him down, until a hand grasped his and pulled him forward, leaving him face down on the ground where he had fallen asleep.

“You look very ready,” the stranger said, and Gavin thought for a moment it was Nine, and then realized it _wasn’t_ , even though the person beside him looked and sounded and _felt_ just like Nine - it was his brother.

“Connor,” Gavin gasped. He felt like he was choking, even though he was out of the water. “Connor,” he said again with a great deal of effort, and then -

\- and then he was awake and he _was_ face down on the blanket, still probably full of whiskey, and he _was_ facing somebody - Nine, but he was still tied up to his tree, of course, as always. His eyes were sharp on Gavin, but his face seemed almost out of focus, like maybe it could be Connor there after all. But there was something else, something holding him down that he pressed up against and couldn’t overcome, trapping him, holding him there in place.

“Sleeping beauty awakens.” Gavin realized that the choking pressure on his neck was a heavy boot, and that the voice attached to it was gruff, gleeful, and familiar, though he hadn’t heard it in years.

“Ah, shit,” Gavin spat out, trying to draw in a deep breath and failing. The boot on his bare neck came up, slightly, just enough to let him cough, “You move a lot fuckin’ faster than I remember.”

“You’re a lot more fucking alive than I remember,” Lou said, slow and deliberate, surely with a mad grin on his face. “I thought my friend here shot you dead.”

“Not quite,” Gavin wheezed. _My friend._

“He’s a stubborn one,” Nine said.

_My friend, my friend, my friend._

_“Don’t do anything stupid,”_ Tina was saying into his ear.

Lou pressed his foot down again, making Gavin sputter and choke into his blanket. “Fuck,” he gritted out. His heart was pounding, his fingers grappled at the ground, trying to get some type of leverage, and then suddenly the foot was gone, and there was a rough hand in his hair instead, gripping the back of his scalp and hauling him to his feet. Gavin wasn’t sure he’d ever been this close to Lou before, and definitely never like _this._

“You’re a cocky little motherfucker, you know that?” Lou said as he pulled Gavin to his knees, jerking his head back and making him hiss. His hand instantly went to his side, but his gun was gone, of course, his shirt and his holster forgotten somewhere next to his bed. His gun was either thrown to the side too, or taken by Lou, Gavin wasn’t sure. Lou grabbed Gavin’s arm with his free hand, twisting it behind him. “I should fuckin’ tie you up and leave you here to die,” Lou continued. “The fuck would your daddy think about that, huh? You think he’d be relieved?”

“Fuck you,” Gavin turned and spit at him.

Lou looked _crazy,_ wild eyes and wild smile, practically vibrating with anticipation. He looked far older than he had the last time Gavin had seen him, though it had only been a few years. Gavin glanced at Nine, the way he sat against the tree, his posture stiff and his face blank. He had _planned_ this. He had _known_ that Lou wasn’t that far away, that he would be there by morning, he had to have just kept it from Gavin, and the thought of being tricked made something hot and angry bubble up inside him, bursting out of his mouth like a spray of bullets.

“Good fuckin’ plan, huh?” he snapped at Nine. “Talk all this shit about how you and Lou wanna kill each other. All that effort for my dumb ass. I’m so fucking flattered.”

“Hey, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, ain’t that right?” Lou said, and there it was, the cold unmistakable feeling of a gun pressed against his ear, and Gavin at least had the good sense to stop moving. “Seems you got a little mixed up as to who was who, though.”

“Just get to the fucking point,” Gavin groaned. He vowed if he made it out of this, he would never make another fucking plan again. Of course the one time things seemed like they were going right, he was once again kneeling on the ground with a gun in his face. He couldn’t help the truth - Lou was stronger than him, he had taken him by surprise, he would probably kill him or at the very least, beat him within an inch of his life, and he really would die in the middle of nowhere, just as he should have two years before.

“Well, I ain’t got any ropes,” Lou said, and Gavin almost laughed, because yeah, he was still dumb as a fucking rock. _Lucky strike,_ Gavin thought to himself. “But my old pal here has got plenty to go around, it seems.” Lou pressed the gun further into his head, so hard it hurt. “Don’t fucking move or I’ll break your legs before I get you all nice and tied up.”

Gavin calculated it, if he could run away in time, if he could hop on Apple, find his gun and get out of there. He knew it was impossible. If Lou didn’t get him, Nine would, stupid perfect Nine and his stupid perfect horse that hated Gavin’s guts. He made eye contact with Nine, wanting to explode with a million unsaid words, but he couldn’t find the strength to do it. He felt betrayed, and that was the worst of all, the embarrassment, and he knew Nine could see it on his face, and he hated him, he fucking hated him.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you in fucking hell,” he spat out as Lou holstered his gun and left him kneeling on the blanket.

Nine’s mouth twitched. “Not for a long time, I imagine.”

Lou laughed as he crouched down next to Nine and began to untie him from the birch tree. Nine didn’t even look at Lou, just kept his eyes on Gavin, and god dammit, Gavin should’ve just killed him, he should’ve just brought him to Red Rocks.

“You dumb fuck,” Gavin said. “Yeah, maybe I’ll fucking die but Perkins will catch up to you, or Tina, or - “

“You think so little of me,” Nine said as the ropes drifted away from his chest and Lou sat back with a big stupid grin on his face. “And of yourself.”

Gavin was sure he was dreaming. He was sure Lou had actually shot him already, and now he was dead and his brain was fucking with him one final time, as he knelt there on the ground and watched Nine lunge forward and wrap his arms around Lou’s neck, the rope between his wrists pulled back hard to Lou’s throat, choking off a strangled, panicked, incredible shout.

Nine and Lou rolled off into the dirt, both of them kicking wildly, fighting against the other, Lou grunting and grappling at his neck, face red with rage and pain. Gavin was sure Lou had to be stronger than Nine, but Nine had him, he even looked almost calm as he brawled with Lou on the ground. Their horses were going crazy, but Gavin just felt frozen in place, like everything else in the world had gone still, like there was nothing he could do except look at Nine.

And then Lou brought back his elbow into Nine’s side, making him leap and twist, losing control just for a moment, and Lou was reaching down, reaching for his gun -

Nine gasped out his name - his first name - _“Gavin”_ \- and Gavin moved, maybe faster than he ever had, faster than when he had captured Nine, throwing himself and his fists down onto Lou’s body in what felt like an instant. He and Lou grappled for control of the gun - but Gavin had him mostly pinned down, and Nine had gotten his rope back tight around Lou’s throat, and finally, his hand closed around the gun.

He ripped it away from Lou’s body, tossed it a couple of feet away, and then hauled his fist back and punched Lou in the face.

“Fuck you!” he shouted, almost laughing with the relief of it.

Lou groaned and slumped back against Nine, but Nine didn’t loosen his grip, just kept Lou there, completely at his mercy as Gavin scrambled to rise and grab the gun.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Nine said breathlessly, chest heaving under Lou’s weight. “Isn’t that right, Lou?”

“You - fuck,” Lou growled through clenched teeth, hands returned to grab at the rope around his neck. “Shoulda known - you fucking two - couldn’t even kill him - “

“Stop talking,” Nine said as he drew the ropes tighter, his face hard.

“You couldn’t - even - do it - “

“He said to stop talking,” Gavin said, aiming the gun at Lou as he stepped closer. He felt like his chest was about to catch fire. “Not wise to argue with the man who’s about to kill you.”

“I _could_ kill him,” Nine said casually, almost like Lou wasn’t there at all, “or we could leave him to the good graces of the Delta County sheriff.”

“I think I like the fuckin’ sound of that,” Gavin said. He grabbed the rope, twisted up in the dirt next to the tree, and dropped down next to Lou. “I bet the feds will too.”

“Fuck the feds,” Lou sputtered.

“While I agree, didn’t we both tell you to shut the fuck up?” Gavin said as he finished binding Lou’s arms together and sat back. “I think I’ll gag him.”

“Fantastic,” Nine said, like Gavin had just suggested they have some wine with their dinner, like Lou wasn’t laying on top of him gasping for breath.

Gavin reached forward, then, to Nine’s own neck, where his black bandana hung loose and wrinkled from the commotion. Nine stilled, letting Gavin carefully undo the knot holding it in place, his thumb brushing against Nine’s throat - and then it was off, and Gavin sat back as if he had been burned, the fabric balled up in his palm.

The thing was fucking disgusting, that was for sure. Caked with sweat and spit and mud, a map of all the shit Nine had been putting up with since Gavin had captured him. Gavin met Nine’s eyes. They weren’t hard, or cold, or hungry with violence. They were something else entirely, something so foreign to Gavin he couldn’t even describe it.

“Here you go,” Gavin said, and stuffed the filthy bandana between Lou’s teeth.

And then he sat back on his heels and breathed for what felt like the first time in years. He had to laugh, he had no choice. He scrubbed his hand over his face and just laughed. He had no shirt on, no shoes, he was probably still half-drunk, and the ruthless killer he was taking to die had probably, definitely, just saved his life.

“I am so glad you find this amusing,” Nine said, sounding quite amused himself, “but I’m growing very tired of this man’s presence.”

“I need to get more rope,” Gavin said, scrambling to his feet and slipping the gun into his waistband. “Rope, rope,” he chanted to himself, as if he would forget by the time he ran over to his horse. “Fuck, Apple, calm the fuck down now, come on.” He avoided one of the black stallion’s angry snaps with ease, and grabbed one of his loops of rope from the saddle. He had more than enough to mummify Lou if he so desired. Each step felt like a mile, but in only moments he was back at Nine’s side.

“That big brain of yours still working, pal?” Gavin said as he began binding Lou’s ankles together. The man was still alive, though he wouldn’t be for long, if Nine tightened his grip any more. Gavin glanced at him, then nodded, and then Nine let go, freeing Lou’s neck. Lou gasped for breath and grunted around the bandana in his mouth, falling limply to his side in the dirt.

Nine rolled away from him and just lay there for a moment, catching his own breath, a brief moment of weakness. Gavin was sure Nine was going to get up, then, and rush at Gavin, try to grab the gun, maybe run off into the woods.

But then he rolled onto his back, his bound wrists resting on his chest, absolutely covered in earth and bits of leaves. He looked absolutely wild, yet somehow utterly composed and at ease even as he lay in the dirt. He was the opposite of the crude, simple drawings on his wanted posters, something Gavin had never known or seen before in his entire life.

“Well,” Nine said evenly, “that did not quite go as planned.”

“You fucking dick!” Gavin gave himself over to laughter again, bending over with his hands on his knees. “You’re a fucking _madman,_ you know that?”

“So I have been told,” Nine said, his voice light.

“I really thought - fuck,” Gavin straightened back up, his chest clenching, words dying on his lips. He didn’t want to look at Nine, but he did anyway, still baffled by him. Nine was looking at him too, just the hint of a smile on his face. “Why?”

Nine didn’t look away, but his eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth opened, like he was studying Gavin, thinking of what to say. “I don’t know,” he finally said. He held Gavin’s gaze, then, like a knife that was twisting deep into his bones, as his mind circled around and around the words, unable to make sense of them.

I am invested in your well being, Gavin thought.

And then, Nine said, “Why did you say my brother’s name?”

“What?” Gavin blinked, almost forgetting about Lou on the ground next to them. “When?”

“When you finally woke up,” Nine said. “When Lou appeared I - there was nothing I could do, and I attempted to speak to him as loudly as I could, trying to awaken you. And as you did, you said his name.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know either I guess,” Gavin muttered. “I thought you were him or something, for a second.”

Nine got to his knees, then his feet, and they faced each other as Lou sputtered and wriggled in the dirt. “If Connor were here,” he finally said, his firm voice holding a thousand meanings, satisfied and regretful and proud all at once, “Lou wouldn’t have been able to lay a _finger_ on you.”

“You hear that?” Gavin said to Lou, nudging him with his foot, feeling the weight of Nine’s words over him. “You got off fucking easy, big man.” He glanced at Nine, unable to stop his grin. “Though you did fuck him up pretty god damn good.”

“I would have killed him if you were not here,” Nine said in a plain, honest voice.

“Uh, well, alright,” Gavin said with a cough. He stared around them and took in the scene; Nine standing with his hands resting in front of him, Lou rolling around on the ground like a pathetic slug, and their campsite, so calm and peaceful now that the ruckus was over. Gavin took a deep breath, and the words came before he could stop them, “You could’ve tried to run off, you know.”

“I suppose I could have,” Nine said, that little smile still playing across his face, making his usually steady eyes look bright and mischievous. “But I don’t want to leave my horse behind.”

“I’d catch you again, anyway,” Gavin said, unable to stop the nervous, relieved laugh that escaped him as he reached for his tobacco.

“Perhaps we can revisit that theory at a later date,” Nine said. Lou rolled around in the dirt at their feet, the birds and bugs sang in the trees, the sun broke through the clouds, and there they stood, the two of them together over the man they had captured.

“God dammit,” Gavin finally said, breaking the silence. “I need to put a fucking shirt on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [No Diggity - The Cleverlys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtDgmqVs5Eg)
> 
>  
> 
> Gavin: I'm invested in you, asshole  
> Nine: I'm invested in your asshole  
> Gavin: Huh  
> Nine: I know what I said.


	17. leaving for the next town, less'n my sense catches up with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by my realization yesterday that despite seeing Hateful Eight like five times now, I never noticed that Minnie is played by the same woman who played Rose Chapman. That movie really heavily inspired this fic so I thought that was a pretty funny connection.

It was a sad, shitty thing, an abandoned house. Hank had seen plenty of those in his lifetime, including his own. He pushed that thought from his mind, as always, and wondered instead what had happened at the outpost. Had the previous proprietor passed on, or just up and left? Had they been robbed too, or worse maybe. Maybe they had simply tired of being stuck in one spot. That, Hank could understand.

What he couldn’t understand was how Rose had managed to conjure up such a good fucking potato soup in such a desolate place. She and Adam had clearly made an effort to tidy up, to start a fire and throw open the windows. It was still dusty as all hell inside. Hank had seen no less than six spiders crawl across the kitchen table. Rose just swatted them away, putting them on another path.

“There’s plenty left, if you boys would like,” Rose offered as she poured them each a cup of coffee and rejoined them at the table. They had all eaten in silence, Adam barely touching his bowl until Rose chastised him.

“No need,” Hank said through a final mouthful of soup. He wiped his face with his hand. Sumo had slurped up a bowl of soup himself, then retreated to lay in front of the fireplace. Hank was pretty sure he had the right idea. “It was god damn delicious, though.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Connor said politely. He had scraped the bowl so clean it looked like it had never even been touched. He sat across from Adam, and while Connor wasn’t directly staring, Hank could tell that Connor was keeping an eye on him. The young man was visibly nervous, wringing his hands and fidgeting in his seat, constantly looking at his mother for reassurance. And Connor, too, was on edge, as he had been for days now.

Hank desperately wanted to talk to him alone, figure out what was going through his mind, what he thought they should do. But Hank felt it would be impolite to excuse themselves from the table so abruptly. Connor would probably see it that way, at least.

“So what’s your story, Rose?” Hank asked, lifting the cup of coffee to his mouth and settling back in his chair. “You said you’re traveling north. Where from?”

“Texas,” she said. She wrapped her hands around her mug, watching the steam dissolve into the dim air of the cabin. “Closer to the territory than anything else. It was a small farm we lived on. After my husband passed, it just became a little too big.” She laid her hand on her son’s shoulder. “My brother lives in Canada. He has a much larger ranch up there, he needs the extra hands. It’ll be good for us.”

Adam shrugged his mother’s hand off as he stood up and moved away, into the rocking chair near the fire. Sumo glanced up at him, then lumbered to his feet, immediately laying his big head across Adam’s knees. The young man scratched behind his ears, just for a second, and then pushed Sumo away, as if remembering he was supposed to be pissed off. Sumo grumbled but flopped down stubbornly at his feet instead. His peaceful snoring was a contrast to Adam’s badly controlled temper. Not that Hank could really blame him. Rose’s gentle eyes followed him, sad but not surprised. 

Hank followed her gaze, then, to their belongings; their packs, overflowing with what they could have carried from their destroyed wagon, a pile of blankets, a banjo wrapped in canvas, just its stringed neck peeking out from the top of its covering. And a shotgun, leaning up against the window, gleaming in the beginnings of moonlight through the glass.

“It hasn’t been easy,” Rose murmured. “But I do believe things can get better.”

_ That makes one of us,  _ Hank wanted to say, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t what anybody needed to hear, and he wasn’t even sure if it was true.

“What route are you taking north?” Connor asked after a long moment.

“We’ll take the mountain trail north, past Denver. From there it’s nearly straight north. Though it depends on the weather. We’ll have to make good time getting up there.” She sighed and turned her cup around in her hands. “We had already planned on stopping at the trading post, near Springfield. And now the wagon - but we have so little to carry now.”

“Well, as I said, we’ve got some of your things in our wagon,” Hank said. “And what was left - it’s not a long ride from here.”

Rose smiled sadly. “The horses can only carry so much. We already had to choose what to leave behind. There may not be much we can take even from what you collected.”

“Maybe a mule, or a third horse to help carry your things,” Connor suggested, no doubt trying to sound helpful.

“I think that may be all we can afford.” Rose sighed again and stood, returning to the coffee pot. “More? I’ll brew another.”

“Hank should probably get some rest,” Connor said, glancing at him.

“Don’t listen to my mother here, I’m perfectly fine and would love some coffee, in fact,” Hank said. He waved away Connor’s frown. “Come on kid, it’s not every day you spend time in such pleasant company. One late night won’t kill us.”

Connor frowned even more deeply than before. His eyes trailed from Hank’s, to the window, to the wagon, where the Jericho gang sat, locked up and waiting. Rose caught it, his glance, and her eyes flickered between them, thinking.

“So where are you two headed to?” Rose said as she began puttering around the kitchen. Hank and Connor glanced at each other.

“Arizona,” Hank said, slowly.  “Tucson, to be exact.”

“Coming from where? East?”

“Tennessee.”

“Covington, to be exact,” Connor interjected. There was still the ghost of a frown on his face, his lips pinched together and an odd edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. 

“I’m unfamiliar,” Rose said. “We never traveled much past the Mississippi.”

“It’s a shit town,” Hank said.

“Is that where you’re both from?”

Hank shook his head, ignoring Connor’s look towards him. “Nope.”

There it was, a slight, but visible relaxation of Connor’s tension. Hank didn’t offer anything else, and Rose didn’t ask. Instead, she poured them each a fresh cup of hot coffee, then filled her own cup. She didn’t rejoin them at the table, though, but stood in the kitchen, looking towards her son, like she was thinking about something.

Rose then turned to Hank and nodded at him. “You look like you got roughed up pretty good. I thought this was one of the safer trails.”

“Yeah, thought so too.” Hank could feel Connor’s eyes on him. It was a delicate thing, revealing what they were doing. He didn’t think Rose and Adam were the type to take a special interest in the prisoners, but you never knew what people were really thinking below the surface. What concerned Hank more was if they would feel safe, knowing what was in the wagon. The gang couldn’t do anything to hurt them, but it could be just be a frightening prospect, especially after what the Chapmans had just been through.

Chances were, they would all spend the night in the dusty, dingy outpost, and then they would part ways in the morning. Rose and Adam headed north, Hank and Connor continuing west, on the trail to Tucson. There wasn’t a reason to tell them, not really.

“We’re on a transport job, a federal warrant,” Hank said. He suddenly wished he had his bottle of whiskey handy. “Both got hired on back in Tennessee, going all the way to Tucson. Got four criminals tied up in that wagon on their way to judgment day.” He spread his hands open in front of him, watching Rose as she paused with her cup half to her mouth, watching Adam as he turned in his seat to stare at him. “Figured we should be honest with you. If you don’t feel comfortable, we could be on our way.”

“Hank,” Connor said uneasily.

“The Chapmans were here first,” Hank reasoned. “If they don’t want us to stay, we’ll go make camp down the trail.”

“You’ll do no such thing, you’ll stay here in the house,” Rose said sharply, though she still eyed them, appraising, studying.

Adam’s voice came incredulously from the other side of the room, “Mom, I don’t think - “

“Adam, please,” she said with only a quick look toward him. She didn’t move from where she stood. “My husband was a judge for many years until his death. I know about your profession. Can’t be easy, wrangling people like that.”

“Depends on the people,” Hank said.

“Tucson is a long way from Tennessee,” Rose said, more curious than accusatory. “You said it’s a federal warrant. That makes me feel like these are no small-time criminals.”

“They’re not,” Connor said, his voice rising to join theirs. He glanced over at Hank, who just shrugged, wondering what he would say. . “They were wanted for multiple stagecoach robberies, prison breaks, and one of them killed two prison guards in Tucson, though they will likely all be tried for the crime. They were on the run for several years until they were picked up. And,” Connor glanced towards Hank, squaring his shoulders, “they’ve given us almost no trouble so far.”

Hank realized he was staring at him with his mouth open. He wasn’t sure why he expected anything different. Anybody else would have sugarcoated the truth, left out the details, made things easier for everybody. But of course Connor would tell the truth. It actually made something in Hank’s chest catch and release, a relief, that the two of them were on the same page.

“You said there’s four of them,” Rose said.

“Three men and a woman,” Hank said, nodding towards Connor. “Not much older than this one.”

“And which one of them killed the guards?”

“The woman,” Hank said after a moment. 

“And which one of them attacked you?”

That forced a chuckle from Hank. “Nothing gets passed you, I suppose.”

“Nothing,” she agreed. Her voice wasn’t unkind.

“Then I suppose you already know the answer.” His hand absently scrubbed over the side of his face, the scratches and bruises mostly healed, leaving behind just a dull ache and a handful of fading marks and a perpetual knot in his chest. “That was the first time any of them lashed out. Like Connor said, they’ve been really - uh, complacent, up to this point.”

“You don’t seem afraid,” Rose said.

“No,” Hank said after a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor’s mouth hovering just over the lip of his coffee mug, pausing, watching. “Can’t say I am.”

“Mom, can I talk to you - “ Adam’s eyes moved around the cabin, unable to settle. “Alone?”

“Honey, they should hear whatever we have to say,” Rose said patiently. She turned to face Hank with an open, honest expression. “What you’re telling me is that you’re in the company of three thieves and a known killer, and that that same killer recently became violent with you. Is that right now?”

“Uh, well, yep, that sounds about right,” Hank said. He  _ really  _ needed his whiskey now. Connor shifted next to him, his face carefully composed, giving nothing away, though his leg bounced up and down under the table nervously.

“As recent victims of a robbery, you can understand how we might be made nervous by this information,” Rose continued. Hank reached out and put his hand on Connor’s knee, stilling him.

“Understood, ma’am,” Hank said. “If you’d like us to leave, we’ll honor your wishes.”

Rose poured herself another cup of coffee.

“Why did she do it?” Rose asked. “Attack you. Why?”

Hank almost laughed, at that, because how the fuck could he even begin to explain what had happened, what had  _ been  _ happening. He glanced at Connor, wondering if he would pipe in with an explanation, fill the silence, smooth things over. But he was watching Hank, too, waiting to see what he would say. He looked back up at Rose.

“I mean,” Hank shrugged, “wouldn’t you?”

Rose smiled, a small expression. Her sad gentle eyes reminded Hank of Sumo, how he laid his head in everyone’s lap and made sure they were safe, whether they liked it or not. 

“Show me to them,” she said over Adam’s sputtered protest. “I want to see them with my own eyes.”

As they made to stand, Hank realized his hand had never left Connor’s knee.

 

~

 

“We’ve got the things we collected from your wagon stored in the back here,” Hank said as they left the cabin. It was dark, the stars and the moon bright in the sky, their lanterns casting light over the porch, the horses, the overgrown garden out front that should have signified to them the outpost’s abandonment. Sumo bounded forward to check on Daisy, then the oxen, then the Chapman’s two unfamiliar horses, who were quite receptive to his advances. Hank led the way to the wagon, just to the side of the house, visible from both the porch and the kitchen window. He knocked twice on the side as they approached, a warning to their arrival.

“Are they tied up? Your prisoners,” Rose asked.

Adam hung behind her, looking both like he wanted to hide behind his mother, and step in front of her to defend her. He kept throwing nervous looks at Connor, who simply ignored them, choosing to stay next to Hank. There was still a strange current between them, a disconnect from how things had been back at the river. But instead of avoiding him, now Connor was practically sewn to his side. Any other day he might’ve told Connor off for hovering, but after the distance from the last few days, Hank didn’t mind. He could still feel the warmth of Connor’s leg in his palm.

“Yeah, they’re not goin’ anywhere,” Hank grunted as they came around the back of the wagon. He and Connor unhitched the doors, going through the motions that Hank knew they could both do in their sleep. Rose and Adam stood to the side, holding their lanterns and watching in silence. Hank cleared his throat. “Evening, folks.”

If they had met Rose and Adam only a couple of weeks prior, Hank would have bet his life that they would have all liked each other. They would have been charmed by the group trapped in the wagon, empathized with them, just as Hank did, and Connor, too. They had never really discussed it aloud, not in as many words. But he felt it, deep in his old bones. He wasn’t sure what Connor saw, but when Hank looked into that wagon, all he could see was his son. 

“We have company,” Markus said, leaning forward slightly as Rose brought her lantern forward, examining them. The others were quiet, deferring to Markus, just as they had been since what happened at the river. Sumo immediately jumped inside the wagon and settled himself on the floor at their feet, tongue hanging out in a smile.

“Hello,” Rose said. “My name is Rose. And my son - Adam.” She gestured him forward, but he didn’t move. “And what are your names?”

There was a very long silence before anyone finally spoke. “My name is Markus,” said the leader himself. He nodded at Josh, who straightened up in his seat, both curious and polite, and around they each went, introducing themselves. North had been slouching down on the bench, but she sat up too, her eyes fixed on Rose. Simon kept looking at Markus, pressing their knees together. 

“Markus, Josh, North, and Simon,” Rose repeated. Sumo barked. “And Sumo,” she added. “We met already.”

She stepped back, eyes falling on North perhaps a moment longer than the others, and then she turned to Hank. “Well, I’ll see to it they get some dinner, then.”

“Right, of course,” Hank said, too surprised to argue that it wasn’t her responsibility.

“We’ll get our things in the morning.” She turned off, marching back towards the house. Adam stalked off after her without another word, his shoulders tense, arms crossed across his chest, leaving Hank and Connor at the wagon.

“Uh, well, alright.” Hank pushed his hair out of his face and turned back towards the gang. “Come on now, let’s take a walk.”

Hank had expected, or perhaps he had hoped, that they would soften somewhat, that the awkwardness between them all would begin drifting off one piece at a time until things returned to how they were. He wasn’t sure when he had become such a sentimental fool. At the very least, he expected questions about Rose, about where they were, what was happening. But nothing came but silence. And Hank didn’t press any further than that. Maybe this was just how it would be, now. 

They returned to the wagon, placing each person back in their usual place. Connor handled North, both of them stoic and silent. Hank could feel Markus’s eyes on him as he finished getting everyone settled. And just then, Hank heard a voice from the house.

“Connor,” Rose said, poking her head out of the kitchen window. “Be a dear and help me with these.”

Hank and Connor met her at the window, and she passed through four bowls of soup, the fresh, hearty smell taking off into the air. Rose nodded at them, that kind smile on her face, expecting absolutely nothing in return. Now that, that reminded him of Connor.

But when he glanced at his partner as they walked back to the wagon, balancing the bowls, Connor had an odd, pinched expression on his face.

“Jealous they got the last of the soup?” Hank said, trying to tease but eliciting only a little huff of surprise from Connor.

“No,” Connor said. He cleared his throat.

“It  _ was _ a really good soup,” Hank said as they approached the wagon again. This time everyone was leaning forward curiously, and when they passed the bowls out, the gang ate ferociously, like it was their last meal. Hank grabbed his bottle of whiskey and walked a few paces away, giving the gang some space. Sumo flopped down at their feet.

“Yes, it was good,” Connor finally said, so long after Hank had spoken before that he nearly forgot what they were talking about. He looked up at the sky, the stars and the full moon. His lantern cast them all into an eerie light, half-dark and warm at the same time. “She’s a good person.”

“Well, we’ve only just met, but she certainly seems to be,” Hank said. He began packing his tobacco pipe, keeping an eye on the wagon for when everyone was done eating.

Connor shifted slightly, a little inhale, and then he said, “She’s very trusting of strangers.”

“You’re saying that’s peculiar.”

“Maybe. Maybe she is just trusting of you.”

“Oh, of me?” Hank had to laugh as he took a long pull from his pipe. “And why would she be trusting of me in particular?”

“Because as I am experiencing firsthand, you are very easy to trust,” Connor said matter-of-factly.

“That makes you peculiar now too, doesn’t it?” Hank puffed away as he watched him. Easy to trust. That was certainly a first, for Hank, but he couldn’t deny the glow of one of Connor’s straightforward compliments. Connor looked odd, like the wheels of his mind had gotten stuck in the mud and he couldn’t figure out how to move forward. 

“I suppose,” Connor finally conceded. He was still frowning. “Well, I think we should be careful, Hank. We should leave as soon as possible.”

Hank groaned. “Come on kid, you think it would kill us to stay a second night?”

“You were all ready to go before, if Rose said we should.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t. I wouldn’t mind another day of rest.”

“We’re already behind schedule,” Connor said, his voice a little tight, a little annoyed, “but if you insist.”

“Connor, what seems to be the fucking problem?” Hank said, not unkindly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still getting used to being on the road again. We’ll make up for lost time later on.”

“I just don’t want us to go off course,” Connor said after a moment of hesitation. He seemed like he was holding his tongue over something. Usually Connor was straightforward, honest, but sometimes he spoke too carefully, and held himself in a certain way, and Hank just  _ knew _ he was bullshitting.

“Come on kid, you think we’re gonna go all the way up to fuckin’ Springfield with Rose and Junior or something? That would set us back weeks.”

“She’s very charming,” Connor said. Even in the darkness, Hank could see that he was blushing 

_ So are you,  _ Hank thought. This time, he was the one who held his tongue. “If you think I’m gonna suddenly start chasing after a woman while we’re on a fuckin’ job - trust me, I’m not running off with nobody.” He shook his head, taking a gulp of whiskey. “Nobody looks twice at a scarred up old bastard like me anyway.”

“Well,” Connor said defensively, “I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

Hank’s eyebrows nearly shot off of his skull. He was grateful he didn’t have a mouthful of liquor, because he probably would have sprayed it all over Connor. Anything else Hank could have said completely dropped away from his mind as he stared, open-mouthed, at his partner.

“I’m going to get their dishes,” Connor said in an overly dignified voice. He pushed his hair back from his face and walked back to the wagon, leaving Hank standing there alone with his jaw in the dirt.

“Hasn’t that fuckin’ kid ever looked in a mirror?” Hank asked Sumo. Sumo just turned his head to the side, confused, then took off to follow Connor. Some fucking dog.

There was a time - a _long_ time ago - that Hank might have believed him. That he might have even been bold enough to speak the same to Connor. Hank knew it, even if he wouldn't say it. There was something odd between them, a connection Hank both denied and reveled in, but Connor was too young, too good. Those days had long passed for Hank, where he deserved somebody like that. 

Connor was - just confused. Sleep deprived. All mixed up from their dawdling at the riverside. Just trying to be nice. Just trying to lift Hank’s spirits. Well, whatever he was doing, it - was definitely working.

Suddenly Hank realized he was standing alone in the dark with his forgotten pipe in his hand. The wagon was all locked up, Connor gone inside. Hank could hear voices drifting out from the kitchen window.  _ Get your shit together, old man,  _ Hank thought. He took another long sip of whiskey and headed towards the cabin.

 

~

 

“Anyone need more coffee?” Rose asked for maybe the tenth time.

“I think it’s time we all get some shut eye,” Hank said. Connor, for his part, looked exhausted. It felt like ages ago, but Connor had barely even slept the night before, and Hank could see the way he fought against it. Connor deserved to stay the night in a real house, even if it was on the floor. “What’s the bed situation in this old place?”

“We took the downstairs bedroom,” Rose said. Adam was sitting in one of the old armchairs, struggling to stay awake just as much as Connor was. “There’s a cot in there, you could drag it out here though. There were some blankets left in the closet. The floor…” She hesitated, but Hank just shrugged.

“Connor, take the cot. I’ll take first watch.”

“I’ll do it,” Connor said, already standing.

“You haven’t slept in two days, you’re practically passing out at this dining table,” Hank said sternly. “What good will that be?”

Connor looked almost wounded, at that. Hank immediately regretted saying it, conjuring up the memory of Connor asleep in his tent while North began to fight. Hank didn’t blame him; there was no reasoning it out, North’s actions, she was afraid and that was all. It may or may not have happened whether Connor had been in the tent, or right at Hank’s side, as he usually was. 

Rose was drinking another cup of coffee, somehow, looking between them. “I don’t think anybody needs to stay up,” Rose said with an air of finality, adding with a reassuring nod, “We will be safe here.”

“Forgive me, ma’am, but you were just robbed,” Hank said a little incredulously.

“You have a large dog, I sleep with my shotgun,” Rose said. “I believe we will be just fine.”

“This dog wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire,” Hank grumbled, scratching behind Sumo’s ears affectionately. “Alright, I’ll stay on the porch then. Nice enough outside anyway.”

“I’ll do it,” Connor said again, this time more firmly. “Hank, take the cot.”

“Oh, fuck that, Connor,” Hank said in exasperation, but Connor crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Hank with suddenly soft, pleading eyes. 

“Just a couple of hours,” Connor said in a quiet voice. “Please. Let me do it.”

Hank cleared his throat, unable to argue any longer. When Connor looked at him like that, Hank was sure he’d agree to just about anything. “Fine, just a couple of hours then,” he said, gruff and reluctant.

“We’re going to turn in as well,” Rose said. It had seemed like Adam had fallen asleep, but as soon as Rose spoke, he sat up straight and retreated into the bedroom. Why he hadn’t done so earlier, Hank didn’t know, and he didn’t say.

Rose insisted on setting up the cot for Hank. She pushed it up against the wall closest to the front door, right beneath the window that opened out onto the porch, laying blankets over it until it looked like a halfway decent place to sleep. She did the same to the bench outside on the porch, refusing Connor’s offer of assistance.

“Might as well sit comfortably,” she told him, and then she was gone, the bedroom door shut behind her. Hank could still see the light coming out from the bottom of the door, but there was only silence in the cabin now, and after a moment, Connor did the same, walking out onto the porch and shutting the door behind him, and Hank was alone.

 

~

 

Hank still remembered the first transport job he had taken, when he first showed up in Covington drunk and depressed and with nowhere else to go. Fowler had taken pity on him - or at least, as much pity as Fowler could muster - and threw him into the stable house.  _ Can’t stay for long,  _ Jeffrey had told him, standing over Hank, face-down on the shitty little bed.  _ I got a trip to take and I’m not leaving you here alone.  _

And so Hank had gone with him. It had been difficult, at first. Hank was used to long, dangerous days from his time as a marshal, but his constitution had been softened by fatherhood and everything that came afterwards. Hank and Fowler worked well together, old friends who didn’t care too much for small conversations, and by the end of that year, Hank had made a home for himself in the stable house, somewhere between permanent and temporary.

As Hank lay musing on the sad state of his past, Sumo snoring on the floor next to him, he thought about Connor. How had he found this job, anyway? It was like he had simply materialized. A young man with seemingly no experience, who knew the frontier, who knew how to handle the prisoners, who knew how to handle Hank. He was earnest, diligent, hard-working to a fault, polite with a shit-talking streak that always made Hank laugh. He tamed bees, he tamed fires, he seemed to know so much, and yet Hank knew there was more to him, more things that Hank didn’t know or understand, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would.

But he wanted to know him. He lay there in his cot and stared at the ceiling and thought about Connor’s freckles, and he wanted to - he didn’t even fucking know anymore. What the hell was an old fuck like him doing thinking about this shit anyway? He wondered what Fowler would say, seeing him like this. He usually knew how to set Hank straight, even if Hank didn’t want to hear it. 

From where Hank lay in his cot, under the open window, he could just make out Connor’s profile in the darkness. The covered porch concealed him from the light of the full moon, but Hank knew he was there, hearing his breathing. Hank wasn’t sure how long he laid there listening to it.

“Hank,” Connor’s whisper came through the window, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Are you still awake?”

Hank thought for a moment about not answering, turning in like he needed to, but he shook it off. “Yeah, kid. Can’t sleep.”

It was quiet for a few minutes. Finally Connor spoke again. “They are on a long trip.”

“Yes,” Hank said. “They are.”

“And so are we.”

“Yep, we are,” Hank said, adding with a grunt, “Won’t even be ending in Tucson, for us.”

“It won’t?” He could see Connor shifting on the bench, turning his head closer to Hank, though still not looking at him.

“You’re goin’ to California,” Hank said gruffly. “And I’m goin’ back to Covington.”

Connor’s head turned once more, back to the expanse of land in front of the cabin, straight ahead and away from Hank. There was a long silence again, this one filled with something thick and stifling as the summer air, like Connor wanted to argue with him but was holding himself back. But Connor was the one who had said it, back at the river, that they would part ways once they had delivered the gang to the Tucson sheriff. Hank felt something strange, the same way he had felt most recently at Connor’s fierce defense of his appearance. A kind of bewildered, reluctant, confusing optimism Hank hadn’t seen too much of in recent years. Only with Connor.

“Unless you changed your mind,” Hank finally added, sitting up slightly.

“Have you?” Connor said.

Hank had half a mind to stroll out onto the porch so he could look at Connor properly, but he found himself quite attached to his cot, unable to move. “I think a lot has changed since we got on this trail, kid.”

Connor didn’t look back at him. “That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s not, is it?” Hank watched through the open window as Connor’s head finally turned towards him, just slightly, his profile dark against the moonlight. “I think we all still got a long way to go.”

The minutes stretched on in silence, neither of them moving or speaking. Hank wondered if he had given Connor the answer he was looking for. Eventually Hank heard Connor’s breathing grow slow and even, his chin dropped down to his chest, just like when he dozed off riding Daisy. Hank listened for a while. It was a comforting sound, one Hank had grown used to hearing as he fell asleep too.

This time, Hank was wide awake. He moved off of his cot, stepping over Sumo and grabbing his boots on his way out of the cabin, closing the door gently behind him. Connor was fast asleep, his arms crossed over his chest and head tilted against his shoulder, about as relaxed as Hank had seen him in days now.

Hank waited until he was off the porch to put his boots on, and then he walked away from the cabin, away to the wagon.

 

~

 

The moon was full, the sky clear, just the sound of the wind through the grass, the horses and oxen alongside the cabin, the bugs and frogs humming in the grass. Hank hadn’t bothered to bring a lantern; the way was clear and easy, almost like a dream.

After what happened with North, Hank had begun to think that he had softened  _ too  _ much. Deep down, buried under years of chaos and booze and tobacco and feeling sorry for himself, Hank was idealistic. And traveling with Connor and the gang had nurtured that side of him in a way he certainly hadn’t planned on. He felt like he should cast it off for good, like he should have left those feelings behind at the river, or at Rose and Adam’s destroyed wagon. It was just a job, like any other trip he had taken. Wasn’t it?

Hank approached the wagon, knocking twice on its side as he usually did. He wondered if they had fallen asleep, or if they were up late talking or arguing or whatever had been happening recently. Probably a lot of both, Hank imagined.

With a deep breath, he unlocked the wagon doors and pulled them open, casting the moonlight onto the four people sitting inside. He just stood there for a moment, all of them staring at each other, all of them wondering what the hell Hank was doing, himself included.

He cleared his throat. “Need to have a word,” he said as he turned and started to untie North.

Almost immediately, Josh said, “Hank, please,” but Markus held a hand out towards him, silencing him.

“It’s fine,” North said, and nobody else spoke or moved.

Hank pulled her from the wagon, clutching her wrist in his hand as he closed up the wagon with the other, shutting the doors against the rest of the group’s stricken faces. North, though, had a hard, curious expression, watching him fumble with the lock.

Cursing under his breath, Hank marched North to the front of the wagon, earning little protest. He helped her up on the bench, then climbed up after her, gesturing towards her hands.

“Come on now,” Hank said, mouth dry, as she extended her wrists with a roll of her eyes. “No funny business.” He quickly bound her hands together, pulling the loose end of the rope into his lap and settling back against the bench.

The clouds from earlier in the day had cleared away, leaving behind an endless expanse of starlight like a bowl around them. The outpost was the only thing for miles and miles, trails stretching in each direction away from them, the little center of the universe.

“Nice night,” North said after a while of sitting there.

“Yep, sure is,” Hank said. He pulled out his pipe, packing it slow and careful, feeling her eyes on him. “You gonna try to run off again?”

“Think I’m past that now,” North muttered. “Markus gave me about the same talking-to I figure you’re about to give me.”

“He wasn’t happy with what you did,” Hank said, pausing for just a moment before lighting his pipe. 

“No more than you two were, I bet,” North said. “He thinks I put everyone in danger.”

“You did,” Hank said through a cloud of smoke. “Including yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” She just shrugged, making herself comfortable on the bench. “I’m a little impulsive, I suppose. I’m not one to sit around idly and wait for things to happen to me.”

“Connor might have shot you.”

“He might have. But he didn’t.”

“Look ma’am, I gotta be completely honest with you,” Hank said. “I feel mighty sorry for your situation. But - “ He hesitated, then, drawing in a long inhale of his pipe. “If me and Connor don’t fulfill this contract, we’ll end up in just about the same place as you are right now. That ain’t gonna help anything.”

“I know that,” North said. “We all made our choices in life. You, the same as me.” She glanced at him. “Why did you bring me out here?”

“I don’t wanna give you a talking-to or whatever the hell,” Hank grunted. They had probably expected worse than that, and though it gave Hank a stab of disappointment, that they didn’t trust him to be kind, he wasn’t sure he could really blame them. “I just want the rest of the trip to go smooth. You know, for everyone’s sake. We got a couple of months left. It doesn’t have to be total shit.”

“You got a couple months longer than I do,” North said with a small, sad smile. “My trip will end in Tucson.” She shook her head. “You said you feel mighty sorry for us. Don’t be. We all know it might happen. Sometimes shit just gets turned upside down, no matter what your plan is.”

“What was your plan?” Hank asked. “Keep lootin’ and thievin’ forever?”

“Just about,” North said, her smile turning genuine. “But I know how it works, you know all about us. You must’ve read a nice big report before you took this job.”

“I didn’t read much,” Hank said. “Prefer to hear it from the source.”

He knew more about the Jericho gang than he probably should have, that much he was sure of already. Markus hadn’t said much about himself, but the others had spoken about their childhoods, their pasts, how they had come to meet Markus and the others. But perhaps naively, Hank had never desired to push for details about their actual activities, about what had actually happened before they got brought in. Now, he puffed on his pipe and waited.

“Well,” North said thoughtfully, “we kept it simple. There were others we worked with, sometimes, safe houses we would stay at, or places we would bring supplies to after we sacked shit. But usually it was just the four of us.”

“And how did you go about things exactly?”

“Anderson, you were a marshal, you know how stagecoach robbery works,” North said, elbowing him almost lightheartedly. “We’d block the road, or distract them, or fool them in some clever way. It was almost too easy, sometimes. The richest men always had the worst protections. Like they thought they were above everyone else.”

“Trust me, I don’t like rich fucks any more than you do,” Hank said, “but do you really think they deserved to die? You  _ really _ think that?”

“They didn’t die,” she said, almost in surprise. “Unless they attacked us, we would just tie ‘em to the wagon wheels and take off with the loot. We didn’t resort to murder unless it was completely necessary. That was something Markus always insisted on.”

“You murdered two prison guards,” Hank said, adding at her look, “that was one of the things I actually did read.”

“As I said,” a dark look had crossed across her face, “completely necessary.”

“I won’t ask more about that,” Hank said, “but don’t you think killing me and getting out of here is completely necessary, too?”

North seemed to mull this over for a long time, looking out into the grass, the sounds of nature all around them. Finally, she said, “Not anymore.”

“How the hell do I know that?” Hank said, his pipe forgotten in his hand. He already did know, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, but he wondered what her answer was.

“Isn’t that why you came out here?” North asked him.

“Connor might have shot you,” Hank said again. “If it had been him - I don’t know. I might’ve done the same.”

“You’re his partner,” North said. “I get it. I got three of ‘em in this wagon.” She fixed Hank with an intense look, then, like she was trying to decipher something about him. “He apologized to me, you know.”

Hank stared at her. “He did what?”

“He apologized.”

“Why?”

“He said he was just trying to protect you.”

“No, that’s - “ It was Hank’s turn to shake his head, throwing his hands up in confusion, his stomach twisting at her words. “That’s not what I meant - why did he apologize?”

“Because he’s sorry, I imagine.” North was still looking at him oddly. “This hasn’t been easy for him. But you already know that.”

Hank wasn’t sure why his heart was beating so fast. “I suppose I do.” They looked at each other for a minute before Hank said, “He could’ve killed you, you know.”

“Yes, you keep saying that as if I wasn’t there,” she said. “I suppose that... I should be apologizing right now, too. I could’ve done the same thing to you.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ could’ve,” he said, the words dry in his throat. Hank desperately wished he had his whiskey on him. He lit his pipe again, his head pounding. “But you didn’t.”

“Well, we’ve got a few months left still,” North said, a little mischievously now, trying to lighten the mood, he imagined. “We’ll see what other trouble everyone gets up to. And I am joking, by the way.”

“I’m sorry too, you know,” Hank said, a little gruff, a little sincere. “It ain’t pity. I’m sorry I gotta do this to you all just to make a living.”

“Like I said, we all make our choices in life,” she said. “You, the same as Connor. The same as me and the guys. The same as anyone in this world.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “The same as you could choose to give me that pipe.”

“Suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Hank grunted after a second, handing it over. She could have just as easily asked him to untie her wrists, or to let them sleep inside the house, or to just be freed altogether. But sometimes a good smoke was all you needed. They passed it back and forth in an amicable silence until Hank spoke again. “So… what else did Connor say?”

“What, when he spoke with us?” North shrugged. “Well, he didn’t waste much time. He apologized the next morning, and I did the same.”

Hank remembered Connor’s sheepish admittance that he had taken care of the gang alone, and his chest drew tight. “He’s a good man,” he said stiffly.

“Yeah, better than either of us, I’d say,” she accepted the pipe from him again. “Though I don’t think you’re half bad, to be completely honest.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing a woman’s ever said to me,” Hank grunted. 

“Didn’t you have a wife?” North said, a little awestruck.

“Yeah, she wasn’t exactly fond of me as the years went by,” Hank said. “She said I was too rough around the edges. Dunno why we stuck together so long.” The words suddenly felt thick and untrue. Of course he knew why they had stayed together - because of Cole. But Hank wasn’t about to start talking about that now. “Anyway, she doesn’t have to see my sorry ass anymore so, good for her.”

“Well, good riddance,” North said, raising the pipe up in a salute. “I bet she was full of shit anyway. You’re alright, Anderson. And so’s Connor. Makes sense you two are so fond of each other," she added with a twinkling smile.

"Fond?" Hank sputtered out the word in an undignified cough.

"I'd say that's the word, yes," she said haughtily. "He admires you. As he should. Most men in your position would be beating the hell out of us and not giving a shit about it one way or another. You’re - “

Her playful expression changed to one of shock, and for a moment, Hank felt like he could see himself, back at the riverside when North had thrown herself on top of him, taking him by surprise - but this time, it was her, and he watched as her red braid was twisted in an unfamiliar hand, a face in the shadows next to her, full of malice, the glint of a knife against her throat.

Before Hank could shout or move, he felt a cold gun pressing against his neck. He slowly raised his hands into the air.

“She looks easier than the other woman,” the man behind North said as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her off of the wagon. Hank could see a bloody rag wrapped around his forearm. “And look, already tied up.”

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Hank growled as North struggled against his grip, her face cast into darkness now. Hank didn’t move from his spot on the bench, and neither did the gun against his throat. How the fuck had they come up so quietly - 

“Shut up,” the man said. “What you got in this wagon, then? We haven’t had much luck lately but sure looks like y’all are in the right place at the right time, don’t it?”

“Certainly seems that way,” Hank muttered. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He had been in a handful of situations like this before, but certainly not in some time.

“You two lovebirds alone?” The man’s voice was rough and raspy. “The cabin too good for ya?”

He thought about Markus and Josh and Simon in the wagon, and Rose and Adam inside. Sumo, probably still asleep by his empty cot. Rose’s shotgun. And Connor, sleeping on the porch alone.

“We’re alone,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll open up the wagon if y’all let me down. You can take whatever’s inside. No need to start shootin’.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his spinning mind. All he could think about was somebody dying here in the dirt at his feet. He couldn’t let that happen, he fucking couldn’t. But if he could throw them off for just one second, he could grab his gun and at least have a chance. Anyone could unlatch the doors, but they didn’t know that.

“Fine, come on then,” the man grunted. He pressed the gun against Hank’s skin and coaxed him off of the bench and onto the ground. The second man, taller than North but skinny and angled, held her still, the knife still flashing. The other man was larger, only a hair taller than Hank, but with the advantage of a loaded and pointed gun. 

He saw his pipe, flung into the dirt and forgotten, smoke still curling out from it into the sky. The moonlight illuminated everything.

He heard it, then, the sound of the back doors opening, and it was like the weight of the wagon itself had come down upon him.

“There’s three more in here,” an unfamiliar voice called out, carrying across the grass, and Hank felt the gun pushing up into his scalp, a wheezing laugh behind him. Hank closed his eyes.

“What else you lyin’ about?” The man hissed. Hank could hear the men inside the wagon, Josh shouting, Markus’ steady cadence, the commotion of untying them and pulling them out. “You’re not goin’ anywhere now that we - “

There was an explosion next to them, the ground spraying and flying, dirt and chipped earth and grass, a single shotgun blast, and as Hank’s ears rang and his mind spun with terror he turned in stupefied silence with the rest of them to see Connor standing at the porch railing, turned towards them, shotgun pointed at the man behind Hank. Everything else dropped away as Hank squinted at him, looking at his face, hard and dark and unlike any expression he had worn before.

“Get the fuck away from them,” Connor commanded.

“Who the hell is that?” the man holding Hank spat.

Connor looked like a stranger, tall and proud and absolutely fucking ruthless. His face glowed in the starlight. “His partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sleeping on the Blacktop - Colter Wall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sI839zz3L8U)


	18. under your skin, over the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Under your skin, over the moon  
> Don't let me in, I don't know what I'd do

“So what the fuck are we doin’, then?”

“I believe we are on our way to Kannah,” Nine said. He stood over Lou, keeping an eye on him as he occasionally and unsuccessfully tried to wriggle away. Gavin was just a few paces away, rifling through Lou’s bag and finding it entirely uninteresting.

“You would think he’d have some fuckin’ weird shit in here,” Gavin complained, holding up a pair of dice. “I mean, what good are these?”

“They are probably weighted.”

“Ah, fuck yeah, good point,” Gavin said. He added them to the pile of things he wanted to keep - a modest bag of money, a matchbook, the rest of Lou’s tobacco. “Anyway, smart ass, I fucking know we’re on the way to Kannah. But how are we getting him there? His horse looks like he’s about to fuckin’ die.” Indeed, Lou had ridden an almost comically small steed to find them, and it seemed quite content to graze alongside Gavin and Nine’s horses, relaxing in the aftermath of all the excitement.

Gavin himself had yet to come down from the high of seeing Nine choking the life out of Lou, but he supposed he would get over it, eventually.

“He is much too large for Apple,” Nine said. He regarded Lou disdainfully. “I don’t relish the idea of him riding my horse, but I also would rather not walk alongside him.”

“We could make him walk alone,” Gavin said, nodding up at Nine. “You take the saddle.”

Lou grunted, rolling about in protest, addressing his muffled shouts to Nine as he tried to scramble away.

“Step on him,” Gavin suggested, and Nine did, planting his foot in the center of Lou’s chest to hold him in place. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, fuckin bastard. You’ll do whatever we tell you to do or Nine’ll start putting that boot on your balls instead.”

Lou’s face was red and angry, curses still spitting from behind the bandana stuffed in his mouth, but he stopped wriggling around at least. Gavin smirked, catching Nine’s eye and the way his own lip curled up at the side.

“As tempting as this all sounds,” Nine said, “I believe we will make better time with each of us riding. We should arrive to Kannah as quickly as possible.”

“Now you wanna move fast.” Gavin had momentarily forgotten Lou’s bag, focusing instead on Nine. “You think we got to worry about his men coming here?”

“No,” Nine said, ignoring Lou entirely as well, his boot resting on him casually like he was leaning on a rock. “He probably felt as though this would be easy. I am fairly sure his men are back waiting at their camp. However, eventually they will conclude something has gone wrong.”

“I’d like Lou to be sittin’ behind bars before then, I think.”

“I am inclined to agree.”

“Then let’s get going,” Gavin turned back to Lou’s bag, emptying out the rest of it. “Guess he’ll take your horse, then, and you take his.”

“I was hoping you would offer me the opportunity to ride Apple,” Nine said with a shrug. “But I suppose this will do.”

“Thanks for the approval asshole, now we can actually carry on.” Gavin rolled his eyes, but quickly brightened as he found, wrapped in cloth, a half-drunk bottle of tequila. He waved it in the air above him. “Fuck yeah!”

“I am not sure this is the best time to begin drinking,” Nine said as Gavin hopped to his feet and popped out the cork.

Gavin took a long drink, regarding Nine where he stood, holding Lou in place. His clothes and hair were a mess, covered in dirt from head to toe, but his eyes were bright, his pose more relaxed than usual. He looked entirely in his element.

“Motherfucker,” Gavin said, “I almost just died. Now is the only time to begin drinking.”

“You were in no true danger.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Gavin said sharply, and his words made Nine pause, fixing his gaze on Gavin alone. It was an almost impossible thing to reconcile, Nine’s decision to attack Lou, and Gavin wasn’t sure he was ready to start picking this entire thing apart. “Don’t make me say it, alright? Just - fucking drink this before I change my mind.”

He stepped forward, and Nine understood, opening his mouth, tilting his head back just enough so Gavin could pour a long swallow of tequila into his mouth. Lou struggled at their feet, but Gavin just focused on Nine, and the few drips of liquor that escaped onto his chin. After fighting off Lou together in a tangle of arms and legs, standing close to Nine wasn’t as daunting anymore.

“Don’t ask for this again,” Gavin warned as he closed up the bottle again and stepped back.

“I was about to say the same thing to you,” Nine said in a dry voice, but he was smiling, a little color on his cheeks and neck, licking the last of the liquor from his lips. “I do declare that was the best tequila I have ever tasted.”

“I do declare,” Gavin teased. “This is probably the fucking nastiest shit I have ever had. But god dammit, it really does taste fucking good to be alive.”

Nine helped Gavin sling Lou up into his horse’s saddle, Gavin tied his red bandana around Nine’s face, and the three of them resumed the trail towards Kannah.

 

~

 

It had been a little while since Gavin had brought somebody in. Over the years he had had no choice but to abandon Nine’s trail, and instead turn to some random warrant, a bank robber or arsonist or petty thief, someone that would easily put a couple of bucks in Gavin’s pocket. His father had taught him that - to pick the easy ones, someone who wouldn’t fuck him up or tire him out or take him too far off course. He’d get his money, and off he would go, catching back up to Nine.

Lou had been one of the more difficult ones, both times now Gavin had encountered him up close. Both times, he had very nearly died. But this time, he was coming out mostly unscathed, with Nine riding alongside him. Gavin couldn’t even bring himself to give a fuck about how weird this whole situation was. He was alive, Nine hadn’t escaped, Lou was going to jail, and they were about to get paid for it all. He was still buzzing from the adrenaline of it all, and the celebratory drinks he had been taking from Lou’s tequila. Gavin hadn’t felt this good in weeks.

They rode out of the woods and crested over the hill to Kannah, a town as sparse as the plains surrounding them. The mountains loomed in the distance, snow-capped even in the summertime, and just south of town was the river. It was a beautiful sight, especially after being consumed by the forest for the last few days. Gavin wondered what the sheriff would say, picturing the stack of reward money they would receive, the sight of Lou getting hauled off behind bars. It had to be satisfying for Nine, too. Hell, it was all his idea, after all.

“You got anybody else you wanna get rid of?” Gavin called out, catching Nine’s eye with a grin.

Nine raised his eyebrows, nodding at Lou in the saddle between them. “I don’t suppose he was enough of a challenge for you, then.”

“Nobody is,” Gavin said.

“Nobody,” Nine repeated.

Gavin pulled his hat down over his eyes, the sun too hot on his face, and pointed ahead of them. “Ain’t far now,” he grunted. “We’ll get supplies while we’re here. And I got a letter to write.”

“To Kamski?” Nine asked. His face was calm and even, but the new red bandana gave him a more intense expression somehow, instead of the stark black of before.

“Huh? No, I don’t have anything else to say to him,” Gavin said, confused. “To Tina. I told her I’d write on the way down… now seems like a pretty fuckin’ good time.”

“Well,” Nine said with a tip of his head, “send her my regards.”

“She’ll love that. Best wishes from the guy who nearly shot your fuckin’ kneecap off.”

“I do take full responsibility for that,” Nine said after a moment.

“Oh, lighten the fuck up. I’m bein’ serious,” Gavin said with a laugh. “She’d get a kick out of it, probably. If she’s up and walking, that is.”

“It would be nice to see her back on her feet,” Nine said quite stoically.

“Alright asshole,” Gavin laughed, shaking his head and fixing his eyes back on the town ahead. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do actually.”

Someone from town must have spotted them, and while they were still on the outskirts of Kannah, the deputy rode up to escort them to the sheriff. He was a young guy, clearly delighted by Lou’s capture, and he lead them proudly forward. As they drew closer into town, Gavin could see people peering out from their windows, leaning off their porches, taking in the trio of strange men. Gavin’s good mood momentarily magnified, puffing him full of pride, but the more eyes turned to them, the more nervous he became. It was likely more and more people would be recognizing Nine. They would have to move on from here quickly.

The sheriff certainly didn’t make it any easier. He shared in his deputy’s excitement over Lou, both of them positively overjoyed that he had been caught. He congratulated Gavin over and over, clapping him on the shoulder until he winced, though the praise did feel good. Usually Gavin reveled in it, all the attention and flattery, but this time left him feeling more on edge than usual. The sheriff had basically dismissed Nine as soon as they came in, once he saw he was another criminal, instead lauding Gavin for successfully handling the two men all by himself. His deputy dutifully wrote down all the information Gavin gave them about Lou and his men, declaring confidently that they would capture the rest of the gang by the end of the week.

Nine was holding himself in that odd, unfamiliar way, making himself slouched and inconspicuous, and it made Gavin anxious. Not that Nine deserved all the credit, or that the sheriff should congratulate him too, or ask him about Lou, or anything like that. Gavin wasn’t sure what he wanted, really.

“This degenerate man has terrorized this county for far too many days,” the sheriff announced after Lou had been booked in, transferred to handcuffs instead of ropes, and led off to his cell. Gavin knew better than to expect anything more exciting - a final exchange of words, Lou promising his revenge. From here on out, it was just paperwork.

“The townsfolk’ll be mighty glad to see him go to trial,” the sheriff said later, once everything was accounted for and he was finally counting out the reward. A thousand dollars for the assault at the outpost, and another thousand dollars each for the bank robberies. It took a while for the man to count out. “You ought to book a room for the night, celebrate some. I’m quite sure just about everyone at the saloon would buy you a pint.”

“I don’t drink much,” Gavin lied, “though I appreciate the sentiment. I should be getting back on the trail.” He asked about the state of supplies in town, the best route out, how the weather typically held this time of year, and finally, where he could sell Lou’s horse for the best price.

“Well, we’ll take her off your hands for fifty dollars, should you be so inclined,” the sheriff told him. “No matter the state of her. The post office may negotiate a better price. There is a stagecoach contractor on the south side of town that may also be in the market for another horse.”

The conversation had been distraction enough, and by the time Gavin was thanking the sheriff for the information, the reward money was in his hands. They left the men, the jail, and Lou behind, and continued into the center of town.

 

~

 

The post office would close before any of the other stores did, so they headed there first, Gavin leading the horses behind them. He ignored the eyes on them, instead bickering with Nine over what the horse was worth.

“I’ve got three thousand bucks, what the hell is another fifty dollars? I don’t need the money,” Gavin said while they walked. He had kept Nine’s hands tied, though loosely as before, and while Gavin kept an eye on him, he wasn’t so concerned Nine would run off in full view of everybody.

“You can get more than fifty dollars for her,” Nine told him. “The post office should offer no less than one hundred.”

“That seems steep,” Gavin said. “Especially for a horse that size.”

“She is young, strong and in good condition,” Nine countered. “They need fast ponies for mail service. They are typically willing to pay for such a resource.”

“I’m not trying to scam the fuckin’ post office here. I’d give her to them for free, the fuck do I care.”

Nine frowned, his brows drawn together, considering Gavin as he often did, like he was a puzzle Nine couldn’t quite solve. Gavin enjoyed keeping him on his toes. It was interesting, seeing the things he did or didn’t react to, the way he looked at Gavin when he said something surprising. It was a little strange, but it actually dissipated some of the anxiety Gavin was feeling.

They finally approached the building, and once Gavin tied the horses up to the posts outside, he turned to Nine and beckoned him up towards the door. But Nine hesitated, just as he had in Whitewater.

“Don’t start with that shit,” Gavin grunted. “You’re coming inside.”

“I doubt this postmaster will be as easily charmed as the last,” Nine said with an eyebrow raised, making Gavin roll his eyes. “I don’t think we should draw further attention to ourselves. There is already enough of it.”

“Look dipshit, I agree completely, which is why I don’t wanna fuckin’ post you up on the porch for display while I sit inside trying to remember how to spell my own name.”

“If my wanted poster is on the wall, I may be recognized,” Nine said, amused.

“You’re nothing like that poster anymore,” Gavin told him. “You’re like a fuckin’ different man. Nobody is gonna recognize you.”

“I know you are saying that to reassure yourself,” Nine said, then added hesitantly, “but I suppose you may be correct.”

“When I am wrong?” Gavin boasted, feeling the glow of a lot of little things at once. He took another sip of tequila and led Nine inside the post office.

This one was a bit larger than the one in Whitewater, but the woman behind the counter didn’t even bat an eyelash at the two of them entering together. Gavin figured the news of their arrival had probably spread throughout the town, and just like in Whitewater, nobody seemed too keen on actually approaching them. There were a couple of old men in the corner of the post office, each reading a newspaper, and another old woman sitting in a chair behind the counter, smoking a pipe. All the windows were thrown open, the curtains fluttering, the building quiet. Gavin felt infinitely more relaxed.

He bought everything he needed, then settled at a table with Nine, pressing his pen to his chin and thinking about what to say to Tina. He missed her, he knew that much. He wondered how different things would be, if she were here. If he would have spent all this time talking to Nine, if they would have gone to the cliff where Connor fell, if they would have gone after Lou at all. It would have all been different.

“Don’t read over my shoulder asshole,” Gavin said, snatching the paper up from the table.

Nine leaned back, blinking innocently as he said, “I have no interest in what you write to Miss Chen.”

“Yeah right, you’re nosy as hell,” Gavin complained, but put the paper back down anyway. “I just wanna tell her I’m good. We made it this far, Lou’s in prison, when we’ll be in Plainview.”

“Will she join you there?” Nine asked.

“I hope so, but wouldn’t expect her to make the trip.” Gavin scratched the date onto the corner of the paper, slow and contemplative. “If not, I’m gonna head up to see her when everything’s - you know. Give Tina her half of the reward. All that shit.”

“Half,” Nine said, bemused. “You really don’t care about money, do you Reed?”

“Shut up or I’ll tie you to the chair,” Gavin grumbled, finally starting in on his letter.

 

_Miss Tina Chen,_

_Hope you’re fully recovered and out kicking ass again. Currently in Kannah Colorado three thousand dollars richer. I’m still on my way to Plainview as planned, but had to take a little detour. You’d be glad to know Lou Burns was around here, but we caught him and turned him in. Got a hefty reward, enough to get me to Plainview. It might sound odd as all hell, but Nine was the one who wanted to see him picked up. Maybe even more than I did._

_It’s almost a shame_

 

Gavin stopped, unsure what the fuck he was about to write there. He shook it off, crossing out the words and continuing.

_~~It’s almost a shame~~ This trip is taking a hell of a lot longer than I anticipated. I should be in Plainview by middle of September at the latest. I’ll write when I get there and all is said and done with Nine. He practically apologized for shooting you, wanted me to give you his regards._

 

Gavin stared at the words, then added,

 

_He’s not so bad. Nothing I can’t handle._

 

He signed his name before he could overthink it anymore. He looked up and Nine was watching him, but he looked away once Gavin saw him.

“The fuck do you want?” Gavin asked, though it lacked its usual hostility. “Something you want me to add? I gave her your regards.”

“Did you?” And Gavin was sure Nine was smiling, then, under his bandana.

Gavin sealed up the letter, wrote out Tina’s Oregon address on the front, and then stood, Nine following him over to the counter. Gavin scanned the posters on the wall nearby, looking for Nine’s face as he waited for the woman to finish their transaction. He gripped the edge of the counter, palms sweaty, remembering the last time he tried to get an old woman to mail a letter for him. He didn’t think they were unsafe here, at least not at the moment, but it was a difficult memory to shake.

“He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he, Clementine?” The pipe-smoking old lady said, pointing the smoking pipe at Nine and cackling. “Isn’t he?”

Nine looked amused. Gavin cleared his throat and didn’t answer.

“What’s the name?” Clementine drawled as she placed the letter on the counter, holding a pen of her own.

“I wrote it on there already,” Gavin said, jabbing his finger towards it. “Tina Chen.”

“No,” Old Clem said with what seemed like a great deal of patience, “your name, son. If the letter gets returned. Post office policy. ”

“Well, I’ll be long gone by then, if that does happen,” Gavin said with a shrug. “But it’s Gavin Reed.”

“Gavin Reed,” she repeated as she scrawled the name onto the back of the envelope, stamping it with a wax seal bearing the name of their town. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Before Gavin could open his mouth, the old woman in the rocking chair piped up, “There’s a letter for him.”

“A letter?” the postwoman repeated, frowning.

“For me?” Gavin glanced at Nine, who was already looking at him. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t passed this way before.”

“Gavin Reed,” Clementine mused, as if Gavin hadn’t spoken at all. “On second thought, Dolores, that does sound familiar. I think I’ve got it back here.”

After a bit of rummaging, the woman placed a white envelope in Gavin’s hands. It was addressed to a Gavin Reed, that was true. But who would be writing to Gavin in Kannah of all places? Who knew that he was here? The handwriting, too, was… familiar.

Gavin looked up at Nine again. His eyes looked dark, concerned. Gavin turned the envelope over a couple of times, thinking, and then Nine suddenly said, “Reed, that letter is from Chloe.”

“Oh, fuck,” Gavin blinked, realizing he was right. “But why - ?”

He stopped right there. There wasn’t any good reason he could think of for Chloe to write him here. The women watched them curiously. The two men in the corner had stopped turning the pages of their newspapers. Even Nine seemed to be holding his breath.

Gavin ripped open the letter, not caring who was watching, and pulled out the crisp, blue and white stationary. This time, he didn’t give a shit that Nine leaned in to read over his shoulder.

 

_Mr. Reed,_

_I hope this letter both reaches you, and reaches you in good health. I am hopeful for both as I feel I must tell you that a man rode through Whitewater asking for you. I do not disclose information about my patients, as you know, but I am not the only person he spoke to. He did not seem to be a friend. I pray I am wrong. His name was Richard Perkins._

_I sent another letter to the Gunnison River outpost, so I do hope you receive this message._

 

It was signed in a neat, looping cursive. Gavin stared at the signature until it just looked like gibberish, and then he raised his eyes and looked up at Nine.

“Would you like to write a return letter?” Clementine drawled in a bored voice, making both Gavin and Nine jump.

“Uh - no, that’s fine,” Gavin said stiffly. He stuffed the letter in his pocket, feeling Nine’s eyes on him.

“Anything else then?” the woman said. “You look like you’re itchin to get outta here. Not that I blame you."

“Actually, yeah,” Gavin said suddenly. “I got a horse I don’t have a need for. Don’t suppose you take donations.”

“Sure do, son,” the woman said. “Don’t suppose it’s the big black one out there.” She jabbed her finger towards the open window where they could see the horses outside.

“No,” Gavin said quickly, feeling Nine tense up next to him. “Not him. The little one. She was Lou Burns’ horse.”

“Tough girl, then. Alright, let me take a look at her.”

Gavin tipped his hat to Dolores in her rocking chair and turned off, his heart stammering. Fuck, this was not good

“The best route out of town is the Escalante Trail,” Dolores wheezed from behind them. “Very popular.”

Gavin didn’t ask anything else. “Thank you ma’am,” he grunted.

“You’re quite the looker yourself, even with the scar,” Dolores added. "Isn't he, honey?" This time, she was talking to Nine.

“Uh, yep, thank you ma’am,” Gavin said again, annoyed, grateful, embarrassed all at once, and as always, feeling Nine’s eyes on him, trying to read him like a map.

She puffed on her pipe as they left the post office with Clementine, the sound of her chuckling filling the air just like smoke.

 

~

 

There were a handful of trails that headed south out of town, and Gavin chose the most overgrown looking, going southeast into the mountains. He wasn’t sure how much money he had spent getting supplies - he didn’t care, either. They had left Kannah in a hurry, once they loaded off Lou’s horse on the post office, though Gavin did his best not to show how tense he was.

He had half-expected the sheriff to seek him out again, ask him to stick around, but they left with little attention paid to them. Everyone was talking about Lou; nobody was talking about the men who brought him to town. Gavin wasn’t as offended by this as he usually would have been.

He and Nine barely spoke as they made their way down the trail. Gavin didn’t know what he was thinking about. Only that morning, Nine had given up the opportunity to escape, to take his revenge on Gavin, and had turned his ruthless hands to Lou instead. Gavin had expected Nine to eventually fight, but he hadn’t expected it would be in Gavin’s defense.

Gavin drank some more tequila. He’d probably finish Lou’s bottle by tomorrow, at this rate. He knew he should keep his wits about him. Maybe this was all part of Nine’s plan, to unbalance Gavin, to take him by surprise when he least expected it. Maybe Lou’s gang had wised up sooner than anybody thought, and the deputy and his men wouldn’t find them. Maybe they would come after Gavin and Nine, too, taking their revenge for their imprisoned leader. Maybe Lou himself would escape, ripping open the bars of his cell and searching for the two of them like a blood hound. Gavin was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen, but hell, he wasn't sure of a lot of things anymore.

Fuck, he couldn’t be thinking about this shit now. He just didn’t want Perkins to catch up to them. If Perkins was following them, it wasn’t for a good reason. He wanted Nine for himself, and what that meant for Gavin, he wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t about to let that any of that shit happen.

They rode all night, Gavin smoking cigarette after cigarette, dropping the ends into an empty leather pouch. They stopped at dawn to rest the horses and themselves for a few hours, and then got back on the trail.

 

~

 

“Reed, we should stop here.”

Gavin shook his head, blinking himself awake. Had he really been asleep? And for how long? “What? We should keep going.”

“There is no indication we are being closely followed. We need to rest in the event Perkins is on our trail.”

Gavin wanted to argue. Instead he patted Apple’s side, feeling her heavy breaths, and sighed. “Alright, let’s find a good spot then.”

“The horses are - “ Nine stopped, staring at Gavin. “You agree?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what I fucking meant when I said let’s find a good spot,” Gavin said hotly. He glanced around the area, avoiding Nine’s eyes. They were deep into the mountain woods, now, the trail turned rocky and almost claustrophobic. Maybe it was just the idea that Perkins could be close by.

Nine stayed silent as Gavin dismounted and led them off the trail. There was an area a little ways off, all jutting rocks and crawling ferns, a discreet place if Gavin ever saw one.

“Here,” Gavin said.

“In the rocks?” Nine shrugged his shoulder up to pull his bandana down around his neck. He looked disdainful.

“You know, you really gotta stop doin’ that,” Gavin grumbled. “Kinda defeats the fuckin purpose.”

“There is no one around, Reed,” Nine said again, quite confidently. “I have been doing this just as long as you have.”

“Not quite, I got a few years on you I think,” Gavin said as he tied the horses up. Nine managed to get himself out of the saddle alone, then walked forward to look around, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. The ties around his wrists were looser than they had been previously, leaving a length of rope connecting his hands. Gavin kept one hand on his gun, in case Nine tried anything funny. But he seemed more focused on assessing their campsite.

Gavin rolled a cigarette. “Just one night here won’t be so bad. Not enough space for a fire, but that’s no matter anyway. Don’t want Perkins or anyone else spotting us.” He sighed, taking a long drag and patting his stomach. “Fuckin’ pity. I’m dyin’ for some coffee and real fuckin’ food.”

Nine hummed thoughtfully. “Considering beef jerky is the backbone of my diet recently, I have no opinion on such a thing.”

“Wouldn’t matter either way. Neither of us will be eatin’ anything but jerky for a while.” Gavin glanced up at the late afternoon sky, thanking god there would be a full moon. “Hopefully it doesn’t get too cold.”

Gavin tied Nine up to one of the rocks before laying out his own bedding. The boulders formed makeshift beds, preferable to sleeping flat on the dirt. And only after did they get settled in did Nine say, “You could build a fire that emits no smoke.”

“The fuck?” Gavin said after he swallowed down his drink. He had put the tequila back in his pack, saving the rest for a special occasion, and switched back to whiskey. “Yeah, guess I could, if you could do a thing like that.”

“I can,” Nine said.

“Look motherfucker, no you can not,” Gavin said impatiently. He gestured broadly at Nine, leaning comfortably against the rock, his face quite serious in that way that told Gavin he was actually amused. “And definitely not right now.”

“You could do it, then. I will tell you how as you clearly do not know.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gavin said, but he sat up and leaned forward, powerfully curious despite himself. “Never heard of a smokeless fire.”

“You could, if you would like,” Nine said in that teasing, secretive voice. Gavin took another sip of whiskey.

“Tell me,” he said.

It was a slow process. Gavin collected a pile of tiny, dried up twigs, some deer shit he found a few paces away, and a dozen or so logs of increasing size. Nine talked him through every step of the process - building the pyramid of wood, the biggest logs on the bottom, coming to a point at the top, leaving slats in between so oxygen could get in. Gavin packed the inside with his kindling, then sat back on his heels for a moment.

“What’s next?” Gavin asked. The sky was starting to streak red with the sunset, and of course, it was clear to be a cold night up there in the mountains. Gavin pulled his jacket closer around himself.

“You need paper, or dried leaves,” Nine said. He leaned his head back against the rock, looking relaxed. “Any moisture will cause smoke. Paper may be best.”

“Don’t have - wait,” Gavin said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Chloe’s letter, stuffed back into its envelope. He held it up to Nine and grinned. “Don’t particularly need this, do we?”

“It may be better to burn it,” Nine said, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “It was kind, but risky for her to contact you.”

Gavin tore the entirety of the letter and envelope into small pieces, as per Nine’s instructions, and used some to make a nest at the top of his campfire pyramid, adding more twigs and droppings until Nine told him to stop.

“Light it now,” Nine finally said. “It will burn smoke for only a few minutes, no more than a cigarette’s worth.”

“Alright, this better fucking work.”

“It will if you did it correctly.”

“I just did as I was told,” Gavin said with a smirk. He touched the tip of his cigarette to the paper and watched it flame up, a tiny curl of smoke, the beginnings of a fire.

As it burned down, Nine said, “You will have to feed it more kindling. Once the fire drops into the center of the logs, the smoke will be contained.”

“If this doesn’t take, you’re gonna put this out with your ass.”

“That sounds delightful, but I would much rather sleep by the fire.”

The two of them sat and watched with bated breath as the kindling began to burn down, bolstered every so often by Gavin, and the logs took to flame in the center of the pyramid and the smoke ceased. The fire burned hot and dry, and Gavin met Nine’s eyes over it, unable to stop from grinning.

“Not bad, you asshole,” Gavin said appreciatively. “Not fuckin’ bad.”

He started a pot of coffee, making extra so he could drink the cold leftovers in the morning, better than nothing. He didn’t want to go through this effort again before they broke camp. He was amazed Nine’s trick worked. Gavin put a few potatoes next to the fire, along with an open can of beans, and threw a hefty amount of salt on top of everything, practically whistling.

“All that tequila made me hungry as fuck,” Gavin complained. “Whiskey’s not helping. Can’t wait to eat.”

“I am awestruck you are still conscious,” Nine said in a dry voice. “Hopefully your meal cooks before you pickle yourself alive.”

“This seems hotter than a regular fire,” Gavin said, turning the potatoes over with a stick. “Where’d you learn to do this, anyway?”

“My mother,” Nine said, adding with a little huff, “of course.”

“She taught you a lot, I guess.” Gavin took the coffee pot off the fire, pouring himself a cup. Fuck, it was delicious. This was the best idea Nine had ever had. “Other than murder.”

“Yes,” Nine said. “Everything I know.”

Gavin settled back against a rock and sipped at his coffee, regarding Nine across the fire glowing from inside the logs, casting an eerie light over them both. “Did she hold that over you? I know my pop did.”

“Yes,” Nine said. His eyes looked faraway, for a moment, and then he blinked, focusing back on Gavin. “She always said I would pay her back someday.”

“Did you?”

“No, I don’t think I did.” Nine shrugged his shoulder, face impassive, hiding something Gavin wanted to crack wide open.

“How’d she die, anyway?” Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “Did you - ?”

“No,” Nine said, his face dark. “I wasn’t the one who killed her, Reed. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“So who did?”

“She was sick.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to fuckin’ lie to me?” Gavin said. “Maybe she was sick you know, emotionally or whatnot, hell, my father certainly was.” He gestured at Nine, pointing his finger accusingly. “You said, ‘I wasn’t the one who killed her.’ Implying that there was fuckin’ some one who did.”

“Do you know who my mother was, Reed?” Nine asked sharply, his voice growing more heated all of a sudden, “Have you puzzled that one out yet? Did some sheriff in the middle of the desert tell you the tall tales about her? Do you know - “

“Nine, what the fuck, relax,” Gavin said, astonished at his sudden outburst, so unlike him. He set his coffee cup down and leaned forward, watching him. “It’s just a fuckin’ question.”

“It is much more than that.”

“Not really, I don’t give a shit who your mother is or was, or who killed her, whether it was you or somebody else,” Gavin said plainly, reaching up to touch the bridge of his nose, the scar that everyone couldn’t seem to ignore. “It’d be pretty fuckin’ backwards of me to say anything otherwise, ‘cause I would put a bullet in my pop if given the chance, I can tell you that much. And I would do it with a smile on my fuckin’ face. I'm just fuckin' interested, that's all.”

Nine stared at him, his hard expression shifting into something a little more cautious, more curious. It was the small things, the twitch of his lips, which eyebrow quirked up, the way his eyes narrowed. Gavin was finding it easier and easier to read his thoughts.

“It was Connor,” Gavin said.

Nine let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s fucking true.” Gavin rolled a cigarette. “Tell me about her. You said she was worse than a murderer once. Why did he kill her?”

Nine didn’t say anything at first. Gavin sipped his coffee, wondering if he pushed too far. It wasn’t like he had much to lose either way, but he wanted to know, he wanted to understand. And it seemed Nine felt the same way, as he eventually spoke. “Her name was Amanda. She found the two of us begging on the street as children. I am unsure of what happened to our parents, I have no memory of them. Amanda raised us.”

Gavin reached for his whiskey, settling by the fire to listen to him. Nine told Gavin how they had moved from place to place, Amanda teaching them how to crawl into small spaces, pick locks, start all different kinds of fires, shoot guns, throw knives, forage and hunt and live off of the land. And eventually, how to kill, when to shoot, when to stab, when to strangle and poison and torture, how to get the result you wanted. Hearing Nine describe it all so matter-of-factly made Gavin’s blood run cold. He could see himself, too, in those stories; a little boy learning from his father how to hunt and capture and subdue, and the memories came fast and overwhelming, Gavin pushing them desperately down, focusing on Nine instead.

“We robbed all different places, anywhere and everywhere we could,” Nine said. “She always had the two of us working. We moved around constantly. I had wondered, as a child… it all seemed so normal to me, our lifestyle, though deep down I must have known other families did not live like that. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just settle down somewhere.”

“Because you’d get caught,” Gavin said.

“Yes, of course,” Nine said. “My mother was a known criminal. It was impossible for her to make an honest living. No matter where we went, her reputation followed. As I got older, I heard the stories. Rosekiller, they called her.”

“Your mother was the Rose Killer?” Gavin sputtered. A dozen wanted posters flashed through his mind, memories from his childhood, a woman with long braids and a hard expression that Nine had clearly adopted. He could remember the stories his father told him. She killed rich women, sometimes men, but cut out their tongues while they were still alive, leaving a rose in its place. Eventually, she had disappeared off the map, faded to memory, but right before his eyes, Gavin saw her come to life in the man she had raised.

“Regional difference in titles, I suppose, but yes, that was her,” Nine said.

“How the fuck did I not know this?” Gavin demanded, as if it was Nine’s fault somehow.

Nine shrugged. “I do not believe it is well-known information. As we got older, the three of us usually worked separately. She took credit for all the murders, of course.” Nine smiled, then, so brief and unsure Gavin wasn’t certain it even happened, or that it signified a happy memory at all. “She was ruthless. As she got older, she enjoyed it more, the torture of it. It was not just the corrupt and entitled she wanted to kill anymore. It was anyone she came across. Families - children. And eventually, me.”

“Children?” Gavin sputtered. “ _You?_ She tried to kill you?”

“She did not succeed.”

“Uh, yeah, fuckin’ clearly,” Gavin said. “Why, Nine?”

“She asked much of me,” Nine said. “She began to demand. When I could not meet those demands, she told Connor that I was going to destroy the two of them, whether by turning them in, or killing them both myself. As if I would do such an idiotic thing.”

“What did Connor say?”

“He was always her favorite,” Nine said after a long moment. His face glowed in the light of the fire and the full moon. “The youngest son, the closest to her. He was good, too, at what we did. Better than I ever was. I was more suited to middle-of-the-night jobs, stagecoach and store robberies. But Connor was good at getting close to people. He was relentless. It was inconceivable to her that he could ever betray her.”

“So he killed her,” Gavin said, understanding all at once, and Nine dipped his head down in affirmation, looking at Gavin through the hair hanging across his face. “To protect you.”

Nine didn’t have to answer. Gavin knew it was true.

“That was why you went so far south, to Plainview,” he continued, mouth dry, head spinning. “To get away. But you guys were pretty young still.”

“He was sixteen when he killed our mother.”

“Holy fuck,” Gavin said, taking a very long drink, feeling a strange, embarrassing pang of regret that he hadn't been given the chance to track Connor down, too. “Sixteen? He was just a kid. Fuck, he must have been something else.”

“He was,” Nine said. “I can assure you that he was.”

“Okay, so - fuck, I’m sorry, keep going,” Gavin said, his words coming out a jumbled mess as his brain caught up to his body. “So you went to Plainview.”

“We wanted to start over,” Nine said. It seemed like now that he had begun talking, he could not stop either. “Nobody in that area was aware of our background. Amanda had never traveled to Texas. We were safe there.”

“At first,” Gavin said, thinking of the Kamski family, of something Nine had said a while back on their trip. “You said the Kamski’s threatened you and Connor’s life.”

Nine scoffed bitterly. “They ran that town. They were cruel to any newcomers, but especially Connor and myself, for some reason I still do not grasp. They puzzled us out, somehow. It certainly doesn’t matter now.”

“Rose Killer,” Gavin said, understanding. “R-K brothers. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Nine nodded. “They figured out who we were. That was what they started calling us, and it spread, of course. And then...” He trailed off, fully lost in the memory now, staring off into the forest.

“And then you earned your name,” Gavin said.

“Yes,” Nine said. “I earned it.”

“That’s enough sad stories for one day,” Gavin muttered, a tense discomfort stretching between them as Gavin wondered if he would ask what Nine’s real name was. “I’m ‘bout ready to pass out.”

“Your dinner,” Nine said after a moment, blinking in the darkness.

“Not hungry anymore.” Gavin finished the last of his coffee and just sat by the fire, abruptly ending the conversation, but unwilling to crawl into his blankets and go to sleep. He sensed Nine was watching him, but for once, Gavin didn’t have anything to say.

 

~

 

The next morning came quickly. Gavin rose earlier than usual, waking with a start, nearly smashing the back of his head into a rock as he laid back down. The fire had burnt down into nothing, and with a groan, Gavin slunk out of his makeshift bed and kicked some dirt over the coals.

“Get up, dipshit,” Gavin grunted, poking Nine’s leg with a stick, and Nine startled up immediately. “Surprised I got up before you.”

“You are not alone in that,” Nine said dryly. He cleared his throat. “We should be on our way already.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying we’re not in danger,” Gavin said, but he got up and puttered about all the same, drinking cold coffee and clearing away their things, eventually untying Nine once he was ready to go.

Their previous night’s conversation hung in the air, clinging to everything like dew, like the smell of cigarettes on Gavin’s jacket. All the things Nine had confided in him, the questions he had answered and created, the secrets he had revealed. But neither of them spoke of it. As they stood by their horses, Gavin handed Nine one of the cold cooked potatoes. Nine ate it with both hands as Gavin scarfed down the beans. And then, they were back on their way to Plainview.

 

~

 

In the mid-afternoon, it started raining, a light drizzle that eventually turned to a full on downpour. Gavin wanted to keep going, but the mountain trail quickly became difficult for the horses. If Perkins actually was on their trail, even he would be held up by a storm like that, and so Gavin decided reluctantly to stop.

They found a little cave tucked up in the side of the cliff, with an outcropping to its side that was big enough to shield the horses from the worst of the rain. Gavin took their saddles off, bringing them into the cave after checking it for any creatures hiding from the storm, and then realized he was alone.

“Nine, get your ass in here,” Gavin called out, tugging on the rope that ended in a loop around Nine’s neck. He was standing just outside of the cave, letting the rain beat down on him, ignoring Gavin’s demand. He had his bound hands raised up to his face, and Gavin realized that he was washing it, letting the dirt run out of his hair and off his cheeks and neck. These times were the closest Nine ever got to taking a bath.

This was usually how it went - though Gavin didn’t ever unnecessarily beat on his captives, he also didn’t go out of his way not to degrade them. The sad truth was that it would look strange, to turn in a warrant on someone who looked happy and healthy and with their dignity in tact. Nine wasn’t exactly cashing in on the first two, but somehow, he had maintained his composure, his pride, through all of this. Gavin wondered if that was something he had learned from his mother, or Connor, or if it was just who he was as a person.

Gavin set about laying out his blankets and let Nine finish up outside. When he finally came in, his clothes and hair soaked, shivering from the rain but looking refreshed, Gavin tossed him a blanket.

“You’re gonna get fuckin’ pneumonia and I’m pretty sure I drank all that delicious tea already, so, you’re fucked,” Gavin said by way of explanation. “Dry off.”

There were no tree trunks or jutting rocks inside the cave, so Gavin lashed Nine to his horse’s saddle, making sure the blanket pretty much covered his body. The sky was dark, but there was just enough light coming through the clouds to illuminate the cave. It wouldn’t stay like that for long, though, and it was cold.

Gavin’s stomach grumbled. While the dark conversation of the night previous had ruined his appetite, today was a new day, and Gavin was hungry. The promise of hot food still hung in his mind. Drinking the leftover coffee had worked out well, too, saving him time in the morning and not even tasting half bad. He wanted to build a fire.

While Nine relaxed against the saddle, Gavin ventured further back into the cave, which ended a dozen or so feet past its entrance. But there were some old tree branches in here, probably blown in from previous storms, and still dry from the rain. Gavin gathered them, along with some dried up twigs he found scattered on the floor of the cave. He still had some of his kindling from last night’s fire left, tucked in a leather pouch in his pack.

Gavin took off his jacket and laid out all of his things on the ground in the center of the cave, right between Nine’s saddle and Gavin’s blankets. The rain came down outside, forming a curtain that shielded them from the woods. It was quiet, peaceful almost. Gavin took a sip of whiskey and set himself to arranging the logs, putting the largest ones on the bottom, and stacking them up into a pyramid, sprinkling his kindling in between the slots of wood.

Eventually Gavin realized Nine was watching him, his eyes tracking every movement of Gavin’s hands, occasionally glancing up to his face. Gavin felt hyper-aware of himself as he meticulously went through each step of building the fire, hearing Nine’s voice in his head, directing him.

Finally the pyramid was completed, and Gavin turned to his bag, realizing he needed paper. But he had used up all of Chloe’s letter. Gavin had never been one to write in a notebook, and so he had nothing on him, no stationary, no newspapers. He glanced at Nine.

“You got anything in your bag I can use?” he asked gruffly.

“You would know if you had, and I quote, _tossed through my shit,_ as you threatened to many days ago.”

“Alright smartass, I’ll just look myself then.” The truth was, Gavin felt a little strange going through Nine’s things. It had been weird enough searching through Lou’s stuff, but Nine was something else entirely. Gavin was nothing if not curious, though, and if it helped him build this fire, all the better. He snatched the pack from the side of the saddle and settled cross-legged by the fire next to Nine.

Nine, it turned out, didn’t have much. Some clothes, handkerchiefs, a nearly-empty pouch of tobacco, some knives, bullets, all things Gavin had plenty of already. Of course Nine wouldn’t have any stationary; who the hell would he be writing letters to, anyway?

But way down at the bottom of Nine’s pack, Gavin’s hand brushed against something soft and papery, and with an inhale Gavin pulled out an envelope, all worn and wrinkled, probably years old. There was no address on the front, no name, no signature or seal. Gavin held it in his hands gently, leaning forward on his knees.

“That is a letter,” Nine said.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that, thank you,” Gavin muttered, turning the letter over in his hands. It was well-worn, clearly opened and read many times over the years. “From who?”

“My brother.” The words cut straight through the cool air of the cave, making Gavin clear his throat. “Are you going to burn it?”

“No,” Gavin said quickly, maybe too quickly.

“Are you going to read it?”

This time Gavin didn’t answer at first. It was probably the last thing Nine had of his brother. Gavin wondered when it had been written, how close to Connor's death, how much it said, what else it could explain.

“I suppose I couldn’t stop you,” Nine said. His eyes looked dark in the shadows, his face impassive, but Gavin knew what Nine wasn’t saying.

He tucked the letter back into Nine’s pack. “Rolling papers,” Gavin grunted. “I can just use rolling papers.”

“How clever,” Nine said. Gavin didn’t look at him, now unsure of what his expression would be, and if Gavin wanted to see it at all.

He tore up a bunch of papers, made his nest on top of the logs, and then lit a match, touching it to the side of the kindling. The cave was silent save for the hissing of the flames as they took. And there it was, the small curl of smoke, and the beginnings of the fire that would soon collapse in on itself and yet still continue burning.

“You remembered how to build it,” Nine said after a while. His voice sounded odd, impressed almost, warm like the fire, heavy like the rain coming down around them.

“I remember everything you say,” Gavin said. He glanced at Nine over the fire, finally rolling a cigarette once he was sure the fire was doing well. It needed some more tending before he could start cooking, but it was a good start. He couldn’t help but feel a little appreciative towards Nine, for teaching him how to do this. Every time Gavin was sure he knew everything, he was proven wrong, and the more time passed, he found that fact more intriguing than annoying.

And so it went with Nine, as well. He was a mystery, a lock for Gavin to pick, a code for him to solve. He could have been a normal man, tall and dignified, handsome, like that old woman had said back in Kannah. But Amanda had found him, she had changed him, planted Nine and his brother in her garden and raised them to be exactly what she needed. Did that explain it, then? His mother, his brother, his childhood. All the choices they had made, all the hardships. Nine had killed people; he had ruined lives.

Hadn’t Gavin done the same, though? The only difference was that Gavin’s livelihood was approved by the government. No - that wasn’t fucking true. They were completely different. Gavin’s father was an asshole, but he hadn’t tortured people like that. At least, not in the same way. Gavin wanted to talk about it, to say he understood, but he knew better than to get started. They had both given and taken away, from the people around them, from each other. That was something they would always have in common.

Gavin was drunk, he had to be, and that was proven with what happened next.

“Want some?” Gavin asked, shaking the bottle of whiskey in front of him.

Nine had been watching the fire, but he glanced up, then, to look at Gavin. “No,” he said after a moment, sounding a little confused.

Gavin was confused himself. “What, you developed a real taste for that tequila or something?”

“I am not in the mood to drink.”

Gavin followed Nine’s eyes to the cigarette in his hand, the burning tip, the little curl of smoke streaming from it up to the ceiling of the cave. Nine hadn’t smoked in weeks and weeks and weeks now, and Gavin had seen the way he leaned into Gavin’s exhaled smoke, inhaling the secondhand tobacco. Gavin knew how it felt, that aching, craving feeling, like there was nothing else in the world.

Before Gavin could stop himself he leaned forward and lifted his arm.

“Don’t move,” he said.

He adjusted his fingers so the end of the cigarette was sticking out, and then he closed the distance between them, holding the end to Nine’s mouth. His wide, glowing eyes were fixed on Gavin, like this was some kind of trick, and then his lips parted and he tilted his head forward, just enough to take the end of the cigarette between them.

Gavin’s heart was pounding. He could feel Nine’s breath against the tips of his fingers, warm and damp, an inhale, and Gavin’s hand fell away just so as Nine held the lungful of smoke in, closing his eyes and leaning back against the saddle. His shirt hung off of his collarbone, the high collar open to expose the expanse of his freckled skin, damp from rain and sweat. He looked blissed out, gone straight to heaven at the end of Gavin’s fingertips. Of all the times Gavin had looked at him, he had never seen that expression on Nine’s face before. There was a strange dark feeling in Gavin’s belly, a familiar feeling that he couldn’t help but lean into the discomfort of, pressing his fingers together, still feeling Nine’s breath against his hand. It felt like the closest they had ever been. Gavin hadn’t felt a touch like that in a very long time.

Nine exhaled and through the cloud of smoke and the sound of the rain said, “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” Gavin muttered. He took another drag, mouth burning where Nine’s had just been, his face hot, his stomach heavy. “I haven’t done shit for you.”

“On the contrary,” Nine said. His eyes didn’t leave Gavin’s face, but he didn’t elaborate. Gavin’s body betrayed him. He reached out again and let Nine take another drag, and another, and another.

They finished the cigarette in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roses Are Falling - Orville Peck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APWigNmPHlQ)
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> My bf finally finished playing DBH and got the machine Connor ending and once he saw RK900 he said "they gave him a turtleneck to show he's strong, fast, and fuckable" which I feel like just basically says it all.


	19. if you don't love me now, you will never love me again

Hank was pretty sure he had died already.

Maybe he had fallen off the wagon and been crushed under the wheels. Maybe he had gotten swarmed by bees back by the river. Maybe North had killed him after all. Or maybe he had died back in the stable house. Maybe he had drank himself to death on the floor and Connor had never woken him up and Fowler had just found him and said, oh, well, that was bound to happen eventually.

Or maybe these fucking nobody thieves had just shown up and shot them all, and Hank’s brain was firing off some last final dream, because Connor was there, standing on the porch with his gun pointed right at them, and he both looked right at home and nothing like himself all at once.

The chaos seemed to have paused. Hank remembered moments like these. Time would slow, freeze almost, and Hank could see each moment flicker past in stark relief, showing him every detail, every smell, every sound. North, with the knife to her throat and her hair twisted in a stranger’s hand - Markus, and Simon, and Josh, cut from the wagon and shouting as they were thrown into the dirt, a pistol waving over them - the filthy smell of the man behind Hank, booze and chew and sweat - the silence inside the cabin, Sumo and Rose and Adam blessedly safe and asleep, or maybe, Hank thought, dead already - and then, the gun, pressed into Hank’s hair.

“Alright, _partner_ ,” the man behind Hank said, his voice thick and slow. “The hell we got here?”

“A group of travelers, just as you are,” Connor said, calm, even. “There is no need for violence.”

“You shoulda thought of that line before you started shootin’ off your gun,” the man sneered. “You ain’t no normal group of travelers.”

“No they ain’t,” the man standing over the rest of the gang chirped up. He was tall, young, blonde, hateful. He drove his boot into Markus’s stomach, sudden and hard, though he didn’t fight back or cry out. Simon let out a terrible sound, a sound that made Hank’s stomach curl, but Simon didn’t move either, just laid in the dirt next to his companions. North strained against her captor, but even she didn’t argue with a knife gleaming at her throat. “They were all tied up in there like a bunch of fuckin’ dogs.”

“They got a warrant?” said the man behind Hank. Their leader, Hank imagined. His slow drawl sounded sharper now - interested. Smarter than he looked. “Dead or alive?”

“Alive,” Connor said, seizing on the man’s interest like a dog. Hank allowed himself to take a breath. “If they die nobody gets paid.”

“How much?” he demanded. Hank could feel the gun’s pressure lift, if ever so slightly.

“Six thousand on arrival.”

“And arrival to where, now?”

“Springfield,” Connor lied easily.

Hank could sense the man’s consideration, the way his posture eased slightly.

For the first time, Connor looked at Hank, and the hard, clear look in his eyes softened, just for a moment. Just long enough.

The man holding onto North pulled her hair back, baring her throat and drawing his knife up against her jaw. A slice of blood trickled down her neck. She didn’t move.

“All right,” he said in a trembling but commanding voice, drawing everyone’s attention to him - no, Hank had been wrong, he was their leader after all, god dammit, and - “where the fuck are y’all really going?”

“Up your ass,” North spat.

“Oh, Christ,” Josh groaned from his place in the dirt.

“You’re real funny, little girl,” the man said. “Real, real funny.”

His hand moved across her throat, the knife glinting in the moonlight.

“Stop,” Connor commanded, turning his shotgun to the man’s head. “She killed two prison guards. She’s worth the most of all of them.”

North bared her teeth in a grin.

“Two guards, eh?” For a second, Hank could see something strange, a sliver of appreciation. Hell - other than Hank himself, and Connor, they were all criminals, after all.

Hank knew it, from his own years of traveling. Men like this seemed hard, selfish and unyielding. But they could be persuaded. They could be convinced to turn away, for the right price, by the right person. The idea of watching somebody - anybody - die in the dirt in front of him made bile rise in the back of Hank’s throat. He caught Markus’s eye, his strange eyes reflected in the moonlight, the slight way he nodded towards Hank, almost like a reassurance. He knew, too.

The man with the knife, the leader, glanced at Hank, then drawled, “Ain’t got enough horses to take the lot of them. We’ll have the lady. The rest you can bury.”

“We will not bury anyone tonight,” Connor said, and Hank could sense no more tension in his voice, no fear. His face was so calm, so smooth, betraying nothing as it had before, all sharp edges and set angles, no concern in sight. “They aren’t the only thing of value in that wagon. Maybe we can do some negotiating.”

It almost worked. The men were curious, especially the leader, the way he paused with North at his feet, his knife falling away from her throat while he considered Connor’s words, and it was good, it was enough to make Hank plant his feet, standing up straighter and looking at Connor, watching him.

“Put that shotgun down and we’ll start talking,” said the leader, finally, but Connor didn’t move. The man lifted his knife back to North’s throat. The man behind Hank pressed his gun against Hank’s temple again. Connor’s eyes flickered over to him, just once, and then looked away.

“Connor,” Hank began to say, but Connor moved anyway, tossing his shotgun down off the porch into the dirt in front of them, and then stood at the railing, waiting.

Hank could feel it, the press of the metal into his scalp, the hot, low chuckle that escaped from the man holding onto him, someone Hank should have just turned around and decked in the face ten minutes ago, before Connor ever got himself involved, before Connor stood there on the porch alone and unarmed. The seconds stretched on endlessly, and Hank felt more than saw the gun leave his head, the man’s arm extending past him, cocking the revolver and pointing it towards Connor.

It was the click of the gun that brought Hank back to earth, and before he even had an instant to think about what the fuck he was doing, he yanked his arm up, hitting the bottom of the man’s elbow and throwing his arm into the air as the gun went off and the sound exploded all around them

The bullet meant for Connor drove into the wooden column on the porch instead, sending chips of paint and wood flying like shrapnel through the air - and Connor didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, just grabbed the railing with both hands and jumped over it, landing in the dirt next to his shotgun just as the fighting began.

It had been a while, since Hank had to do this. He barely had time to take a breath as the man’s arm wrapped around his neck, grunting and panting damp against his ear, and Hank fought back, this time, remember dozens of other fights in his half century of life, hyper aware of every movement of the man struggling next to him. He managed to twist his arm away, nearly forcing the gun from his hand, instead pointing it up into the sky, and the man desperately squeezed the trigger again, the bullet exploding up towards the stars.

Hank’s ears were ringing; he could see the others shouting, their mouths moving and spitting, North’s red hair flying through the air like a flash of fire, the distant call of Connor’s voice as he crouched by his shotgun. And like lightning was flashing, illuminating each frozen second, Connor rose, and pulled his rifle to his shoulder, and aimed.

It was a nearly impossible target. With all his years of experience, Hank would have never taken a shot like that, so close in the dark, with so much movement. Hank felt like he could see the bullet cutting through the air, carving out its path towards Hank, destined to meet the side of his face as he struggled with the man next to him, with Connor watching, with Connor on the wrong side of the gun.

The bullet connected with the man’s arm, sending a spray of flesh and blood and bone into the air, and then he was dropping his own gun into the dirt to hunch over and clutch at his arm with a gut wrenching anguished scream. Hank could smell it, and feel it, the hot metallic blood in the air, on his clothes, on his _face_ , but he couldn’t freeze, he couldn’t stop.

He kicked the gun away and jumped on top of the stranger, grappling with his arms, trying to restrain him as he shrieked and fought - there was another shot, into the dirt right next to Hank, but it wasn’t a shotgun blast, and it wasn’t fired by Connor - it was the blonde man, looming over the gang with bared teeth and wild eyes, lowering his gun to point it, instead, at Josh.

But Hank barely had time to shout because Simon was throwing himself into the man’s legs, and Markus was moving alongside him, fighting the best they could despite the ropes still holding them all together - North was throwing punches at the snarling man trying to hold on to her, the knife slicing through the air - and Connor, Connor was moving forward, dropping his shotgun, reaching for the pistol in the dirt instead.

Everyone was thrashing and shouting and kicking earth and spitting blood and then Connor had fired off another shot, driving a bullet into the belly of the blonde man grappling with the others, just narrowly missing Markus’s shoulder, and the man went down, down into the Jericho gang, who immediately pounced on top of him, holding him there in the dirt - there was more shouting, the flash of a knife in the middle of their bodies and then -

“Stop!” called out the man with North, his knife back at her throat, holding her in front of him in such a position that even Connor couldn’t possibly dream of taking him down.

And they all did stop, then, paused like a photograph, catching their breath there by this abandoned outpost in the middle of nowhere, a group of strangers surrounded by dust and fear.

“I’ll kill her,” the man promised. “I will fucking kill her.”

Nobody moved. The battered man beneath Hank’s fists wheezed, just for a moment, but Hank just pressed him into the ground, his hand twisted in the man’s jacket.

Nobody moved. Markus and Josh lay across the blonde man dying by the wagon, filthy with sweat and struggle, and Simon was crouched awkwardly next to them, his hand over his leg, blood seeping through his fingers, injured somehow in the chaos.

Nobody moved. Connor knelt still with the gun held at his side.

Nobody moved, until the man began striding forward, turning them awkwardly, harshly, his back to the cabin as he shuffled the two of them along, breathing heavy with the effort. North’s eyes fixed on Hank, sharp and focused, and Hank had an awful thought, then, that he should have just let her take off back at the riverside, beat the hell out of him and get away.

“I’m gonna walk all the way back to my horse,” the man said, near hysterical, voice edging up until he was shouting over North’s shoulder.

Sumo barked and barked, and Hank swore he could hear his huge paws scratching at the door, begging to be let out.

“You’re all gonna let me go,” the man continued, backing away with North dragged along in front of him, “me and the girl. Fuck the wagon and fuck each and every one of you. Sorry boys, I intend on getting out of here alive.”

“Fuck you,” hissed the man with his arm shot half off, so quiet probably only Hank could hear it.

Sumo was howling, then, closer to the kitchen window now, his voice carrying out through the open curtains right next to the two figures struggling off into the darkness.

“For the love of fucking god,” the man yelled, “won’t somebody shut that dog up - “

The gunshot cracked through the air like a whip, silencing everyone and everything. Hank couldn’t place where it came from, at first, the sound just filling all the empty spaces, suffocating everything, making Hank’s ears ring endlessly. He would have been sure that Connor had done it, or Markus even, if he had grabbed the blonde man’s revolver -

But he hadn’t, he was still kneeling the same position, looking just as bewildered as everyone else was, as Hank himself felt, staring at North as she leapt forward, taking advantage of the man’s shock. He was the one howling then, in pain and rage, clutching at his shoulder and stumbling.

Before Hank could even breathe, there was another shot, this one undoubtedly fired by Connor, focused, without an instant of hesitation now that North was out of the way. This bullet drove into the man’s chest, and he crumpled to the ground. He was dead.

North fell on her hands and knees next to him, and then turned to look behind her, where the shot had come from. There was nobody, Hank thought wildly, and then, there was movement in the shadows of the kitchen window, the white curtains fluttering.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Rose shouted from the window.

“You fucking liars,” the man under Hank spit, struggling again with a surge of newfound energy, taking advantage of Hank’s shock. He raised his uninjured arm to crack Hank across the face and send him toppling over onto his side before he could get his bearings.

“The fuck - !” Hank growled, and despite the state of his arm, the stranger came for him, lunging forward, but before he could get his hands anywhere near Hank, he was wrenched backwards and thrown on his back in the dirt.

Connor pointed his gun down into the man’s bloody, battered face. His stood between the two men with his back to Hank, as if daring the stranger to move again.

The man was snarling with red bared teeth, and then suddenly he was _laughing,_ raising his torn up, bloody mess of an arm, pointing with one dirty shaking finger up at Connor.

“You,” he wheezed. “ _You -_ “

Connor pulled the trigger.

Hank felt like was crumpling down, too, like the other man had, dead in the dirt. Everything was buzzing, ringing, melting around him, and Sumo was barking, and Rose was shouting inside the house, a far off sound underneath everything else. Hank was aware of Connor dropping to his knees beside him, his mouth moving, saying something - saying -

“Are you hurt?” Connor demanded, practically knocking him over again as he grabbed at Hank’s shoulders, searching for some kind of wound.

“Jesus Christ, I’m fine, I’m fine!” Hank rolled over onto his side with a groan, pushing himself up and off the ground, until he was on his feet again, somehow managing to hold his balance. “Holy _fuck,_ Connor!”

There were two dead men laying on the ground, and a third well on his way, pinned down by the gang. Hank couldn’t imagine the man was putting up much of a fight anymore, not with the bloody hole in his belly, but they kept him there all the same. North had crawled over to join them, laying one hand on Simon’s wounded leg, one hand on his shoulder, grounding him there.

“What in god’s name - !” Rose’s voice came from the porch, and then the sound of her footsteps on the steps down, and Sumo’s heavy body as he ran full-speed towards Hank, whining and crying. Hank couldn’t help the way the dropped down next to his dog, holding thick handfuls of his fur as he took a deep breath, and then another.

Rose approached, still holding her shotgun, her face red and concerned. Connor was still crouching on the ground, but as she drew closer, he stood, slowly, almost hesitantly. Hank could see his hands were shaking.

 

~

 

The daze that Hank felt wore off as his head cleared and they began to take stock of the situation. His face ached, both sharp and dull at the same time, but a black eye wasn’t nearly the worst thing Hank could have taken from this situation, so he ignored it and focused, instead, on what the fuck they were going to do.

Blessedly, Rose took control almost at once, telling Connor to help Simon into the house along with the others, to send her son outside, and Connor did, looking small and silent compared to the ruthless man that had jumped down off of the porch. He slung Simon’s arm over his shoulder and guided him along with effortless strength, the others trailing behind, shellshocked and still connected by a couple of ragged ropes that hadn’t been cut in all the chaos. They all disappeared into the cabin, leaving Rose and Hank alone outside, just for a moment.

“He’s dead,” Rose said, crouching by the blonde man that the Jericho gang had subdued. “Bled out. You shot him?”

“No,” Hank said. “Connor. And - him, too,” Hank coughed out, unable to say the words aloud, _Connor killed him too._ “You probably saved North’s life with that shotgun of yours.”

“I heard the ruckus from inside," she said, staring down at the dead man, not looking at Hank at all. "The gunshots, the shouting. Certainly didn't sound pretty."

"Didn't look too pretty either," Hank grimaced.

Rose suddenly, sharply inhaled, then turned her face up to meet Hank's eyes.

“This is them,” she said, then, sounding a little awed. Hank blinked at her. “The bastards who destroyed our wagon. They must have followed us here.”

“Mom?” Adam’s voice came from the porch, his hands gripping the railing as he looked at them with wide eyes. “What happened?”

“It’s okay, honey,” Rose said as she stood up, brushing her dress off. “It’s over.”

“We heard the gunshots,” Adam said, and Hank realized he was talking to him. “Mom told me to stay inside.”

“You did the right thing son,” Hank said gruffly. His voice was dry, caked in dust and adrenaline. He coughed and wondered where the fuck his whiskey was. “They snuck up on us. Wanted to rob the wagon, take the others with them. Shit went south pretty quick.”

“It’s the same men,” Adam said, and that same expression came over his face, the look of confusion and gratitude. “The same men who attacked us.”

“Yes, Adam,” Rose said. They exchanged a look, something Hank couldn’t quite decipher in that moment.

Connor emerged from the house then, too, joining Adam by the railing. He approached almost hesitantly, like a scared animal. Like he was afraid of what they would say to him. Truth be told, Hank wasn't even sure what to fucking say, what question to ask first.

“They alright?” he finally said.

“The man who attacked them had a knife,” Connor said. “Simon is hurt. It’s deep, but clean.”

“Good,” Rose said. “I’ll get him all patched up. Adam, honey, I need you to go into the cellar and find some shovels.” She looked from the porch, to Hank. “We need to bury these men by morning, and leave.”

 

~

 

Once Rose disappeared into the house and Adam disappeared into the cellar, Connor and Hank were alone, and Hank started looking for his whiskey, finally finding it on the front bench of the wagon. Connor had dragged the bodies closer to the wagon and thrown a blanket over them, covering the upper half of their bodies and the worst of the injuries.

Hank offered the whiskey to Connor, and he took it willingly, drinking down a few long swallows. Hank watched him under the full moon, unsure of what to say, how to talk about what the fuck had just happened.

“You hurt?” he asked gruffly.

“No,” Connor said. “Hank - “

“Drink more,” Hank said, refusing the bottle. “You need it.”

Connor didn’t say anything to that. He took another drink and stood, looking at Hank, like he was waiting for something.

“Are you all right, kid?” Hank finally asked.

“I suppose I am,” Connor said after a moment. He passed the bottle back to Hank, then, and he accepted this time. Connor’s hands were still trembling.

“That’s ain’t the first time you’ve done something like that,” Hank said, fixing Connor with a pointed look, almost daring him to look away. He didn’t. “You can’t bullshit me on that.”

“No,” Connor said. “I can’t.”

Hank wanted to say something else then, ask any one of the thousand questions bursting in his chest, but he didn’t even know where to fucking start. It wasn’t unusual for the most common of people to have taken a life, not when life could be so dangerous and unforgiving, when you had to defend the walls around yourself at all moments in time, when any stranger could decide that you had what he wanted, and that he was going to take it. Hank had lived in this world for a long time, seen its effects play out over and over again. He knew how things could be, how they had to be, sometimes. That knowledge made you sharper, harder, with stronger walls that kept everything out, absolutely everything.

Connor couldn’t know the same things. It wasn’t possible. He was too young, too good. But he had fired off his gun like he did it for a fucking living. What else didn’t Hank know about him?

“I found them,” Adam said nervously, appearing out of the cellar holding an awkward armful of shovels. His eyes flickered from the trio of dead bodies by the wagon, to Connor, to Hank. “Uh, I guess, I don’t know - “

“Come on, let’s get this shit done,” Hank grunted, finally turning away from Connor’s dark, questioning eyes and instead nodding to Adam, including him in their unfortunate task. “Best to do this away from the house.”

They found a decent spot a couple dozen feet out from the cabin, a small hill with a small dogwood tree that was fighting for its life and winning. It reminded him of another grave, another place, and he pushed away those thoughts almost as quickly as they came, putting his full attention on what had to be done tonight. Hank lit a couple of lanterns, but the clear sky and full moon were almost enough.

They left the shovels and traipsed back to the wagon, Hank grimacing at the thought of moving the bodies. He needed more whiskey. His whole body ached, but he ignored it, focusing instead of taking care of the scene before them. Once they had everything settled, he could breathe and work on forgetting the sight of the men dead on the ground.

As they approached the cabin again, Hank could see two figures leaving the house to meet them. He blinked a couple of times, recognizing them in the darkness.

“You two good?” Hank called out.

“Better than ever,” North said. Hank could see a dark smudge across her neck, dried blood, long forgotten.

“We want to dig,” Josh said. “Are there enough shovels?”

“Dig?” Hank repeated, surprised.

“Rose told Markus she needs his help with Simon,” Josh said. “She’s going to get those horses the man was yelling about. They’re probably tied up close by.”

“Good thinking,” Hank said. “You told her about that?”

Josh nodded. “Seems wrong to leave them out there. Rose said they’ll be useful anyway.”

“So, can we help you out or not?” North interjected impatiently.

“We could use the extra hands,” Connor said, glancing at Hank. “Adam, why don’t you go with your mother?”

“Uh - sure,” Adam said, sounding relieved. Hank looked at Connor appreciatively. He was right, there was no reason to subject the poor kid to digging some son of a bitch’s grave.

“Alright, you go ahead son,” Hank said, surprising himself with how easily he agreed, as usual. “We’ll take care of this. Hell, maybe we’ll even be done before sunrise.”

 

~

 

It was still dark by the time the men were buried. Hank stared at the unmarked graves, deep in thought, until North called out to him.

“Come on old man.” Hank turned to look at her and the others, standing a little ways away and waiting for him. “You look like hell.”

Hank had to laugh. “Yeah, so do you.”

North grinned. “We all look pretty fucked up. Except you Connor. And _you_ did all the hard work,” she added.

Connor shrugged one shoulder, looking a little chagrined, glancing at Hank in a way that he probably thought wasn’t obvious, but Hank noticed, of course he noticed. It made Hank cough, remembering what he had said. It seemed like that evening, when Connor and Hank stood together outside the house, when they had talked through the window, when he and North had apologized to each other, those hours before the thieves showed up - it seemed like that was years and years ago. Standing there on the hill, looking at the others, Hank knew that they would not be getting back on the same trail that they had before, not in the same way.

With a sigh, he joined them, walking back towards the cabin. He noticed Connor hanging back a bit to the side, taking his time, looking at his feet. What was he thinking about? Did he feel regretful or afraid over what he had done?

Hank was so lost in thought over whether Connor was lost in thought that only when they got back to the house did he realize Connor wasn’t with them. He had turned around to return to the graves, his back to the house. Hank frowned. What was he doing?

He hung back, watching the others file inside, dragging their feet with exhaustion, and then turned around to go to Connor. It was still the middle of the night, but the horizon was just beginning to pale, signifying the approach of the morning, a new day.

It wasn’t a long walk back to the dogwood tree, really, but it felt like hours before he finally got there. Connor was crouching down next to one of the graves, and Hank realized when he got closer what he was doing.

“A tombstone?” Hank prompted, looking down at him as he arranged a large rock at the head of the grave.

Connor glanced up over his shoulder. He looked a little sad, a little chagrined, but a small, sad smile came over his face. “I know it seems strange, but it felt wrong to leave them like this. With nothing.”

“It ain’t strange, kid,” Hank said, though it kind of was, for somebody else maybe. But not for Connor.

“Every man deserves a little bit of dignity,” Connor said, returning to the rock, making sure it was firmly in the dirt. “A good man told me that once.”

Hank’s chest was tight. He stood silently, watching Connor brush the dirt off of the rock, staring down at it.

“I didn’t want to kill them,” Connor said without looking at him.

“I know,” Hank said, knowing the answer only as he spoke it. “Come on, I’ll help you find another rock.”

Connor finally turned and looked up at Hank, and he smiled a real smile, soft and surprised and grateful, and then he got to his feet.

The moon was disappearing, the stars fading, the darkness lifting. Eventually they had three rocks lined up along the graves, marking their presence. It wasn’t a bad spot, under a dogwood tree. Hank wondered who these men were, why they had done what they did, why they had become who they were. How close any of them were, to being in the wagon like the Jericho gang, or to being in the ground like these strangers now were. They had families too, at least at some point. They all did. And here they were now. _I hate it_ , he heard Connor saying. _All this cruelty._

Hank and Connor were lucky, in their own way. Whatever had happened to either of them, they were standing there together as the sun began to rise.

Every man deserves a little bit of dignity, Hank thought. And then he and Connor walked back to the house, side by side.

 

~

 

Outside the cabin, four new horses had joined the others, tied up outside and grazing together. Their saddles were still on, the strangers’ belongings strung up on their sides. Maybe there was something of value inside, but Hank dismissed that for another time. Rose could probably sell them up at the trading post, a way to help pay for a new wagon.

Inside, almost everyone was asleep - Markus on the couch with his arms crossed, Simon leaning up against him, his bandaged leg propped up on the arm of the couch. North and Josh were next to each other on the floor nearby, covered with one of Rose’s blankets. And Adam was passed out in the rocking chair, snoring, with Sumo at his feet.

Only Rose was awake, making a pot of coffee - of course - and she poured the three of them a cup before they stepped out onto the porch together to talk. The sky was just beginning to streak red and orange, a gold crack of light breaking through the sky to the east. Hank sunk down onto the bench outside with a groan of relief. Rose leaned against the railing, sipping at her coffee, and Connor hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to Hank.

“We should all leave here by noon,” Rose said, breaking the silence. “Your - Simon will recover quickly. He can change the bandage himself, or Markus, I showed them both how to do it.” She eyed Hank, nodding at him. “You look like you need a little bandaging yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Hank grunted. “Just need to wash up.”

“You need to get some shut eye, is what you need,” Rose said sharply, then her voice softened, slightly, as she looked at the two of them sitting on the bench. “Stay out here on the porch if you want, or take the bedroom inside. I’m going to wash up myself, and make breakfast. I’ll let everyone sleep for a few hours.”

She opened the front door to go back inside, but hesitated, looking towards them. “By the way… thank you.”

“It’s nothing to be proud of,” Connor said, nodding once at her, stiff and uncomfortable. “But thank you as well.”

“No, honey, it’s not,” Rose agreed. “But I’m grateful, all the same.”

She disappeared into the house, and they were alone together again. Hank packed up his pipe, this time not even asking Connor if he wanted any, just passing it to him. And Connor took it willingly once more. Maybe Hank wasn’t a very good influence, but it felt good to share this with Connor, to unwind from all of the chaos of the night.

“Think they’ll still go to Springfield?” Hank asked, settling back into the bench as they smoked.

Connor hummed, thinking. “I suppose they will.” He frowned, then. “It might be dangerous. I’m surprised at what happened here. It could have ended very badly, worse than it did. I’m glad that… that we didn’t have to bury anyone else.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Hank agreed, an uneasy feeling crawling over him at the thought of such a thing. He pushed it to the side.

Connor tilted his head back, exhaling a big cloud of smoke. “It might be dangerous where we go, as well.”

“Sure, everywhere is, fucking clearly,” Hank said, adding casually, “You ever been through there? Springfield?”

“It is a big trading post, many people travel through there,” Connor said. He was puzzling something over, his lips pursed, looking off into the warming horizon. “My brother and I did, a couple of times. But that was many years ago.”

“Think anybody might’ve seen him?” Hank asked, perking up slightly at Connor’s words. “In this area?”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Connor said slowly. “We aren’t going to Springfield.” He stared at Hank, his eyes narrowing. “Are we?”

“You wanna find your brother,” Hank said, puffing on his pipe. “Maybe you’ll hear something, maybe you won’t. But it’s a start. And we’re not far.”

“Hank, it’s a two week ride up there,” Connor said in a slow voice, with just enough hesitation to make Hank want to push further. “That would put us even further off schedule.”

“Oh, fuck the schedule,” Hank said impatiently, rambling on. “We can make up for lost time later on. I’m not exactly itching to wrap things up or anything. Just - who fucking knows what’s gonna happen. Might as well just fuckin’ go while we’re close by.”

“I’m not sure,” Connor said uneasily.

“And we still need supplies, for one fuckin’ thing,” Hank said. “And - I dunno, maybe I got a feeling we should stick around the Chapmans. After - all that shit. Feels wrong to just leave them.”

Connor was frowning, chewing on his bottom lip as he mulled over Hank’s words, finally repeating his words from earlier, more slowly, deliberately, “Hank, it might be _dangerous_.”

“I ain’t worried about that,” Hank said dismissively, waving away Connor’s words as well as the smoke hanging around them. He patted Connor’s knee, swallowing hard, saying gruffly, “I feel pretty fuckin’ safe knowing you’re here.”

“Oh,” Connor said. His mouth hung open on the word, frozen in place, like he couldn’t process what Hank had said. His face was a little red, his eyes wide. His hands stayed curled into fists in his lap.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Hank said with a little huff of laughter, offering Connor the pipe again and withdrawing his hand to scratch at his beard, feeling suddenly awkward. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Connor sighed. He leaned back against the bench, still deep in thought. Hank frowned, unable to stop watching him, wondering again, what didn’t he know about Connor? He wanted to know everything. But now just didn’t seem like the right time to interrogate him.

“I’m gonna ask you about it, one day,” Hank said, his voice quiet.

“Yes,” Connor said. He looked away. “I know that too.”

They didn’t talk for a while, just smoked in silence. Hank felt oddly peaceful, relaxed into the void that was left behind after the chaos, just looking at the sky. He pushed his thoughts towards their change of direction. It would set them back further than Hank wanted to admit, but for Connor, he didn’t mind going out of the way. And if it delayed the end of their journey even more, well, then, so be it. Fowler would be pissed.

But it really _was_ only a couple of weeks to get there, less if they moved quickly. And with such a decent sized group, it was unlikely they would be bothered. Hank was feeling more and more confident about his suggestion. Connor had ceased arguing, a sure sign he was coming around to Hank’s side. Hank was comfortable, sitting next to Connor’s warm body on the porch, sharing the pipe until it was empty, finishing their cups of coffee.

After a while, as the sky turned bright red and orange and the sun was making its way up and over the horizon, Hank noticed that Connor was dozing off, his eyes fluttering. Hank elbowed him.

“I thought you weren’t tired.”

“I’m not,” Connor murmured, crossing his arms over his chest without opening his eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “Go sleep inside in a real fuckin’ bed. We’ll figure this shit out in the morning.”

“Hmm,” Connor said. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on the back of the bench, and then, he was scooting over, resting the side of his face against Hank’s shoulder, tentatively at first, and then he relaxed. Hank could feel all of the tension leave Connor as he settled there, pressed to Hank’s side. “I should go.”

He didn’t move. Hank sighed.

Connor’s blanket from before was still on the bench, and Hank grabbed it, spreading it over their legs. Connor’s knee drifted over and pressed against Hank’s, his breathing growing even as he finally succumbed to exhaustion. Hank’s arm started to tingle, and without thinking he lifted it up, draping it over Connor’s shoulders, though he nearly drew it away when he realized what he was doing.

Connor murmured a little bit and shifted, drawing closer to Hank, laying his head over Hank’s heart.

Hank stayed awake and watched the sun rise into the sky. And for the first time in many years, he felt grateful to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Chain - Fleetwood Mac](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDG2m5hN1vo)


	20. there's poison in the water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [this incredibly beautiful and cute as fuck art that @lamoluu drew for R&R](http://lamoluu.tumblr.com/post/186620722288/yall-are-reading-rivers-and-roads-right) :'''') I am totally in awe of the sweetness of this!!! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been along for the ride so far, I love yall so so much.

 He was alone. 

It didn’t matter where he was; Gavin recognized it and didn’t at the same time. There was a fire in front of him. He leaned against a tree, looking at his legs stretched out in the dirt in front of him. It was dark, except for the play of firelight over his body and the earth just around the hearth. 

“Gavin,” a man was saying, in that unmistakable voice, and then Nine was there, sitting next to him, his face dark in the shadows. He was clean-shaven, hair swept back from his face, looking at Gavin expectantly. “Would you like a cigarette?”

Gavin said something, something like _yes_ , and then Nine was leaning forward, forward, their faces nearly meeting, and he opened his mouth, near Gavin’s own, and from his breath came a cloud of smoke that Gavin inhaled like he hadn’t had fresh air in years - 

Gavin woke up gasping, twisted in his blankets, next to the dying coals of the fire. It was still raining, coming down in thick sheets that had the trees quaking. The entrance to the cave was full of puddles, but they were back from the worst of the spray. The air was hot and heavy, the summer still coming through despite the storm. With no sun and no fire, the cave was dark and oppressive as fuck, the stone walls seeming to close down on him. 

Gavin sat up and put his head between his hands, trying to catch his breath. He felt strange, unsettled, like it had been a nightmare, but… He shook his head, trying to clear his mind out. He was already forgetting what little details there had been, leaving behind instead just a crawling need, for something. Gavin reached for his tobacco and pulled himself up and out of his pile of blankets to roll a smoke.

“You look sick,” Nine said from his place at the saddle. The blanket was still over him. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat, his mouth pursed in disapproval. Gavin’s fingers itched, remembering the way Nine had breathed against him, and that dream - but Gavin pushed it away.

Why the fuck had Gavin given him the satisfaction of a cigarette last night? In the sober light of day, the whole thing felt… entirely fucking insane.

“I am sick,” Gavin said. “Sick of lookin’ at your fuckin’ face.”

“I could say the same to you.” 

“You’re stupid,” Gavin said, popping the cigarette between his teeth and walking barefoot towards the entrance of the cave. 

“Good, something else we have in common.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” Gavin’s laugh turned into a frown as he stared out into the storm. He was unsure what time it was. Probably not quite mid-morning. But it could’ve been midnight, for all he knew. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, thinking, thinking. The rain was too much to travel in; the mud on the mountain would be unforgiving. They would have to wait this out.

“Late summer storms pass quick,” Gavin said over his shoulder. Thunder cracked out, echoing against the rocks. “Won’t be here long.” 

“Let’s hope not,” Nine agreed. His voice sounded light, breezy, nothing like the rain. “I am already terribly bored.”

Gavin finished his cigarette at the entrance to the cave, his back to Nine. He didn’t offer anything, and Nine didn’t ask, and when Gavin was done, he knelt down and held his cigarette to the puddle of water at his feet, watching it sizzle out. He pinched off the damp end into the water, pocketed the rest, and rolled another. 

 

~

 

It was too hot to build a fire. Gavin drank his cold, leftover coffee and ate a can of beans and waited for the rain to let up. As the day dragged on, so did the storm, droning on and on and on. Gavin paced back and forth, smoking a handful of cigarettes over the hours, occasionally coming to stand and look at the rain.

“You cannot intimidate it away, Reed,” Nine called out after a while.

“Shut up,” Gavin said. “Not tryin to. Just looking."

Looking didn’t do much. Gavin eventually braved the rain to check on the horses, who seemed perfectly fine under the outcropping by the cave, huddled close to each other, both of them in a good mood for whatever reason. Nine’s horse nipped at Gavin’s shoulder, but didn’t break the skin. He considered that a step in the right direction.

Gavin spent a few minutes looking for some dry wood under the rocks. It was pointless and he knew it. He had hoped for some fresh air, but the rain soaked through everything, cocooning the cave and everything around it like they were sitting in a hot springs. Muttering to himself, Gavin slunk back up into the cave, shaking off in the entrance like a dog. Gavin was soaking wet, rain sticking to his bare chest and back, his pants soaked and shrunk to his skin. 

“Fuck, it’s still goin’,” Gavin said to Nine.

“You talk as if I’m blind,” Nine said, his eyes focused intently on Gavin, glancing over his body, like he was looking for new scars. His gaze lingered for so long Gavin nearly snapped at him. 

“This is shit,” Gavin said, intending it to sound more forceful than it actually was. He picked his way back to his blankets, feeling Nine’s eyes on him still. “Can’t even get a fire going with these wet ass logs. Not that we need the heat.”

“It would be far too hot to build one,” Nine agreed. He was already sweating, his damp hair curling in his face, shirt loose around his chest, up above where the rope stretched around him. Gavin could see the beads of sweat clinging to his temples and lip and collarbones. He pulled one knee up towards his chest, lounging casually against the saddle like he wasn’t even fucking bothered. “I do not suppose today is the day.”

“What fuckin’ day would that be?” Gavin peeled off his pants and flopped down into his bed, pulling a blanket half-over his lap for some measure of dignity. He reached for his whiskey, wondering what time it was. “The day you decide to shut the hell up for once?”

“Certainly not,” Nine said. “The day you shave off my beard. You did agree with my suggestion.”

“Look,” Gavin said, taking a long sip of whiskey, his eyes watching Nine, remembering his dream and then just as instantly burying it. “I’m not doing that shit.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“And why not?” 

“I’m fucking lazy. I ain’t doin’ it. So stop asking.”

“If you insist,” Nine said after a moment. “I will be recognized.”

Gavin swept his damp hair out of his face. “And what’s gonna happen if you are? Huh? I’m gonna let somebody run off with you? That _you’re_ gonna go along with that shit? Fucking please. You kicked the shit outta Lou fucking Burns.” 

“That was a unique situation.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin waved his hand dismissively and began rolling a cigarette, thinking of how Nine had been, single-minded and powerful. Gavin knew it hadn’t been about him, not really, not entirely. Nine hadn’t stepped in because he wanted Gavin, specifically, to live. He wanted Lou to get what was coming to him. That seemed to be what Nine built his life around. Justice, revenge. Something else we have in common, Gavin thought.

Gavin figured Nine must be going crazy, but he seemed just as collected as ever. The strange moments where he wasn’t - where he looked at Gavin in that particular, intense way, or when he spoke about his brother or his mother, or when he had leaned forward to share Gavin’s cigarette - those moments were becoming so ordinary, so natural, that Gavin could nearly dismiss them.

Nearly.

“You don’t got a deck of cards or anything, do you?” Gavin asked. He smoked slowly, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

“You went through my bag only last night. Your memory is very poor, Reed. Maybe you should go back to Whitewater and have Chloe look at your head.”

“Maybe,” Gavin said. “Bet she’d _love_ to see you.”

Nine frowned, tilting his head to the side almost curiously. “I sincerely doubt that. She seemed quite keen on keeping us away.”

“She had a thing for you,” Gavin continued, just to get a rise out of him, just to see what he said, and Nine actually _grimaced._ “Aw, come on, she was pretty, asshole.”

“She was,” Nine said. It sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. “I do not have an eye for such things.” 

“What things? Pretty women?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“What about pretty men?” Gavin smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette as curiosity got the better of him. 

Nine was watching him, his chest rising and falling under the rope. He pursed his lips like he was thinking of an answer. Hesitating. Strange, for him. Gavin watched him, too. Eventually the silence stretched on for so long that Gavin knew not to expect anything.

He took a sip of his whiskey. “I took those dice from Lou’s bag. Think they’ve been fucked with?”

“There is only one way to know,” Nine said with a tilt of his head. Gavin grinned and reached for his pack. 

 

~

 

He was alone.

Gavin was in Chloe’s kitchen, back in Whitewater. The house looked - different, somehow, but Gavin couldn’t exactly explain why. He lounged back in one of the chairs at the table, tracing his finger over the big map spread out in front of him. He was looking for something.

“Plainview is south of here,” Nine’s voice came from over his shoulder.

Gavin knew where it was. He watched as Nine’s arm stretched over him, his chest pressing down to Gavin’s back as he leaned over and pressed his fingertip against the town’s pinpoint. Nine’s other hand stayed on Gavin’s shoulder, balancing him there.

“That’s where we’re going,” Gavin said. His voice sounded strange.

“You need to get well first,” Nine said, and then he was sitting at the table too, and there was a steaming cup of tea in his hands. “Can you drink this?” 

“Yes,” Gavin said, leaning forward, and Nine lifted the cup to his mouth with both hands. It was the perfect temperature, sweet, like flowers. Gavin reached up and put his hands over Nine’s, tilting the cup back to drink. His hands were smaller, rougher, fitting over Nine's, and Nine was smiling, really smiling, such a rare sight that it instantly jolted him out of the kitchen, back to the cave, back to the rain, awake.

“Fuck,” Gavin muttered, pressing the heel of each hand into his eyes. It was dark as fuck. The storm still sunk down all around them. As his eyes adjusted, he could see Nine in the shadows, shifting against the saddle. Gavin wondered how long he had been awake.

“A bad dream?” Nine’s voice was quiet against the sound of the rain outside. 

“Yeah,” Gavin said. He pulled the blanket over his face. Even as the rest of the dream dissolved away, he could still feel the ghost of Nine's hands under his. “A bad dream.”

 

~

 

“Fucking ridiculous,” Gavin said around his cigarette, his fourth one in the last hour. “I feel like this shit is never going to stop.”

“It has only been three days.”

“That’s a long fucking time for a storm, jackass,” Gavin said. He stood at the entrance to the cave. The puddles had grown in size. “Good thing we can’t get flooded out up here.”

“It may be difficult to travel even after the rain subsides.” 

“You ever been caught in a mudslide? Shit ain’t fun.” 

“And you have?”

“I’ve been in a hell of a lot of terrible fucking situations,” Gavin said. “Still goin’, though.”

“Indeed you are,” Nine said dryly, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

“What’s a time you cheated death?” Gavin asked. He told himself he was just making conversation because he was bored, tired of the silence that often stretched out in the cave and drove him insane. He had rolled those weighted dice for hours the day before, finally figuring through a haze of whiskey that if he threw them in the right way, he could easily roll a seven. But once he had reasoned it out and perfected it, it became boring again, and now it was just the two of them, alone as usual. And Gavin really didn't mind shooting the shit with Nine, anyway.

“I do not cheat,” Nine said, like it was a dirty word. “I am simply… lucky.”

“Yeah, you sure look it,” Gavin tossed out, and Nine, under his ropes, shrugged one shoulder as he always did. “You’re going to hang before the leaves change color,” Gavin said incredulously. The words caught oddly at the back of his threat. He felt like he hadn’t spoken it aloud in some time. “That doesn’t sound fuckin’ lucky to me.” 

“No,” Nine agreed. “But today, I am still alive. I imagine I will stay that way until you decide otherwise.”

“Yeah, you will,” Gavin said. “I’m getting you to Plainview in one piece. Or as close to one as possible.”

“That would be ideal.”

“I could just shoot you in the head and be done with it,” Gavin said, like he had to remind them both of that fact. 

“I am well aware of that.”

“But that would be childish as fuck,” Gavin continued. “That would be too easy, just hauling your dead body to Red Rocks or wherever. Where’s the justice in that? You wanna hang in fucking _Colorado_?”

“I suppose it would have been far more poetic if I had stepped off of that cliff,” Nine said with a wry little twist of his mouth. “But Plainview will suffice.”

Gavin scoffed, then laughed, for real. “I thought you were going to, you know. Jump off."

“Of course not,” Nine said. “I realized when we were there that death has lost its appeal.”

“Makes sense,” Gavin said, wondering how much more was more buried there than what Nine was saying. “Felt like that, too, when you shot me. All of a sudden I was thinking, shit, life’s not so bad.” He shrugged and dragged on the last of his cigarette. It felt god damn insane and yet completely natural to just discuss these things so plainly with Nine, to be able to laugh about it. “Must’ve been a boring few months, without me around,” he finally added. 

“To be entirely honest,” Nine said, “it was.” He shook his hair out of his face, mouth curving under his dark beard as he regarded Gavin in the dim light of the cave. “I suppose you will share the sentiment after I am dead.”

“I suppose I will,” Gavin said after a moment. His cigarette had burned away to its very end. “Can’t say I’ll find another one like you, Nine.”

This time it was Nine who huffed out a little laugh. He turned his head away, glancing off into the cave at nothing, instead of at Gavin as he had been. Gavin’s skin was prickling. He felt anxious as fuck, like they actually were back at the cliff and Gavin was staring down a great height. He needed to stop smoking so much. That was all this was - just too much tobacco and whiskey and time spent stuck in this cave, with the rain holding him hostage alongside this crazy man who had saved his life.

“Gonna, I dunno, check on the horses,” Gavin muttered. “You need to take a piss or something?”

“No,” Nine said. “But I wouldn’t mind the chance for some fresh air.” 

“Alright, come on,” Gavin said with a sigh. He picked his way through the puddles and rocks over to Nine and the saddle he was bound to, dropping down onto his knees next to him, untying the ropes with practiced hands. “It’s coming down real hard, so fair warning.”

“I don’t mind,” Nine murmured. His breath moved over Gavin’s face as he leaned in, close and concentrated. “This cave is making me feel - stifled.”

Maybe it was just the close proximity, or the heat, or cabin fever, or that Gavin knew what Nine’s breath on his fingertips felt like, but whatever it was, feeling Nine speak close to his skin made Gavin instantly, sharply, inhale and pull back, feeling like he was blushing across his entire body, that he was - no, that wasn’t it, it was these stupid dreams, he was just going stir crazy, he was just -

“Stifled, yeah,” Gavin repeated. He didn’t bother tying the bandana around Nine’s face, just hauled him to his feet, avoiding his eyes. “Guess that’s the word for it.”

 

~

 

Gavin knew he wasn’t alone.

He was in the cave, leaning up against the saddle where Nine had been sitting the past few days. There was a fire burning, turning the already hot cave nearly steamy with flickering heat. Gavin was sweating. It almost felt - good.

And Nine was there, of course, sitting next to him casually, with no ties or binds holding him, just looking, and then Gavin shifted, realizing with a deep and sudden dread that he couldn’t move, that there was rope after rope tied around him.

“Nine,” Gavin muttered, straining against them, his hands opening and closing. “Untie me.”

Nine didn’t say anything, just knelt forward next to him, and then Gavin was leaning back into Nine’s palms, passing over his body over the ropes, loosening them. Gavin really wasn’t even thinking about that anymore, he was just thinking about the pair of hands moving across his shoulders, his chest, his ribs, until the ropes were gone and Nine was just touching him, dragging his hands down Gavin’s chest lower, lower, lower. 

Neither of them spoke. Nine’s fingers skated over his scarred up hipbones and then further down, under his shirt and across the bottom of his belly, slow, deliberate, relentless - and then _lower_ even, between his legs, his breath on Gavin’s face, so close, so fucking close. 

Gavin woke up panting. Nine's name was dying in his mouth, and Gavin was twisting in his blankets with his hand stuck unceremoniously down his pants, already coming with a choked off gasp. It felt like it lasted forever, his body ebbing and flowing under his hand, Gavin’s eyes clenched shut, trying to catch his breath and utterly failing, until eventually he just melted back into his blankets and watched the cave ceiling come back into focus.

It was dark. Still raining. Gavin could hear the blood pounding between his ears. It felt like he was going to evaporate. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. 

Eventually, into the silence, Nine spoke in a low, questioning voice. “Reed?”

Gavin didn’t say anything. He just breathed in and out, the hot damp air pressing him down, holding him there. Nine didn’t say anything else. Gavin listened to the rain, waiting to hear the sound of Nine’s breath evening out, the sound of him falling asleep. But it never came, not even as the sky eventually, unmistakably began to lighten up, along with the storm. For the first time in many days, the sunrise broke through the clouds, the fog lifted, and the rain began to slow. Eventually it stopped altogether.

Light broke in through the entrance of the cave, catching in the puddles and dripping walls, and on Nine’s face, still awake.

Gavin hadn’t slept, either.

 

~

 

“It is far too early to leave,” Nine said again as Gavin scraped out the remains of their fire.

“Look, the horses are saddled up, our shit is gathered, it’s time to fucking get back on the trail,” Gavin grunted. He turned towards Nine, who sat on a rock a few feet away, the rope looped around his neck and his hands tied, a decent amount of give between his wrists. He regarded Gavin with a slight, disapproving frown, the same expression he had been wearing all morning, since Gavin had finally risen from his blankets and crept out of the cave to wash himself in the leftover rain puddled outside its entrance. He had stayed crouched on the ground for a while, letting the rain trickle off his skin, but it didn't do much to rinse off the angry anxiety that wrapped itself all up and down his spine.

Gavin hadn’t been laid in a very fucking long time, or at least it felt like it. He had brought himself off a handful of times along the trail since he had captured Nine. Excusing himself away from their campsite, dredging up old memories, strangers’ bodies and hands, but it had been years since he had dreamed about it like this, so vividly, about someone so particular. Gavin had laid there all night long, blaming everything from the booze to the lack of coffee to Nine manipulating his mind with some sick witchcraft.

There wasn't a point in dwelling on it, not really. Gavin had always slept hard and dreamed insane exhausting dreams that he usually forgot by noon. He had long stopped trying to find meaning in them, as others did. There was no reason to keep thinking about it. Gavin just hadn't been around anyone else for so long in a while, other than Tina, so his dreams were simply drawing from his day, and that was all. He had never actually dreamed about Tina like that, when they were traveling together. But that was different.

Gavin had to stop looking at Nine.

It was a small thing, that frown, but it had been grinding away at Gavin’s temper, rubbing his nerves raw as Gavin wondered how much Nine had heard that night. He didn't want to know the answer.

“The path may be dangerous,” Nine said. Again.

“Yeah, well, Perkins could be coming through the woods right now, which I also don’t want to fucking deal with,” Gavin said through clenched teeth. “The sooner we clear outta here, the better. I need to get the fuck out of his place.”

“It may be practical to stay another day - “

“Nine, just - shut the fuck up,” Gavin snapped. “Just this one time. Just fucking stop talking to me.”

Nine didn’t listen, of course. “That was unnecessary. I am only concerned for our wellbeing.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna fucking die either asshole, we’re gonna be just fine,” Gavin said in a rush of heated words. “We’re gonna get back on the trail, make it out of these stupid fucking mountains, and get the hell to Plainview before I lose my mind.”

“I was not aware it was still intact,” Nine said in that dry voice.

Usually Gavin would have shot something back, continuing their constant bickering without a second thought - but he felt like any shreds of patience he had somehow maintained had been boiled away, burnt up and discarded like an old cigarette, like Nine was carving away at the last semblance of sanity he had. There was no way he knew, no way he could peer into Gavin’s mind and see the sick spreading dream-memory of Nine’s hands on him, but Gavin almost felt like he could, like he knew every thought that crossed Gavin’s mind somehow, like he could sense the awful twisting something that curled and uncurled deep down in Gavin’s belly. Gavin wasn’t embarrassed by much, but this was more than that, it was shameful, to think of someone you captured like that - to think of Nine like that - 

And so Gavin strode forward instead, practically seeing red, dropping down next to Nine and grasping his throat with one hand, feeling his pulse fluttering underneath his palm. Nine’s bare skin was hot and damp with sweat. His expression pulled into something dark and mocking as Gavin put his hand on his neck, and nearly squeezed. The last time they had been like this was on the way to where Connor had died, Gavin's desire to be cruel as he could leading them off course. They had stood together at the cliffside,  instead. So much had happened with Nine since then. Gavin felt the deep desire to both kill him, and to keep him alive as long as he possibly could.

“You make it real fucking difficult sometimes,” Gavin muttered, holding Nine’s heartbeat under his fingers.

“What do I make difficult, Reed?” Nine’s voice was low, teasing, but his breath was ragged. He didn’t look away.

Gavin walked his hand up, grasping Nine’s jaw with his fingers, with half a mind to keep going, to lay his fingers on Nine’s lips and hold his mouth closed until he stopped talking entirely. He brought his thumb up just below Nine's bottom lip, pressing into the center of his chin. Nine’s skin blush-reddened above his beard, on his cheekbones, and below, his pale throat and collarbone, until it seared angry and heated against Gavin’s fingertips.

Gavin didn’t want to be the first one to move, but he was, pulling his hand away and reaching down for the red bandana slung around Nine’s neck. He pulled it up roughly and fixed it over Nine’s face, covering that smartass mouth of his altogether.

“Fuck you,” Gavin said. He couldn’t look at Nine, for some reason. But Nine looked at him. Gavin knew he was looking at him. 

He led Nine out of the spell of the cave, to their horses, to the woods, back to the trail again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Honey Whiskey - Nothing but Thieves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoK5BjlmGBY)
> 
>  
> 
> Stupid sexy bonus song: [Old Town Road x Pony Mashup - Pomplamoose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8gUKEGuS20) (genius)


	21. feels like home

* * *

After a few silent hours on the porch, Hank was awakened by the sound of the front door closing, then gentle footsteps on the wood. Connor stirred beside him, still tucked up warm under Hank’s arm. Hank didn’t move too much, just opened his eyes as Rose approached, a blanket around her shoulders. It wasn’t quite mid-morning, and an odd chill had descended over the landscape, fog hanging close to the ground. Hank wondered if it would rain.

It was no surprise that Hank had dreamed about what had happened, that night, Connor’s hard eyes and the shotgun firing and the shouting and the silence. But he had it all mixed up, because in his dreams they had been in Shamrock, and Cole had been the one ripped off the front of the wagon and held there at the threat of his life, and Hank remembered what it had all been like, the chaos and the violence of it all, and his memories blurred into one as Connor stepped out from somewhere and put two bullets in the head of the man holding Cole. Hank had dreamed about his son many times, and each time always left him feeling heavy and confused, but this time, he had Connor beside him to lean on.

“Good morning,” Rose said as she leaned against the railing across from them. Hank wondered if she had slept at all. “Sorry to wake you two, but we should all begin making our arrangements out of here.”

“We’d like to accompany you,” Hank said, clearing his throat. Might as well cut to the fucking chase. Connor sat up, at that, looking between them blearily and rubbing his face, where Hank knew there was just the barest hint of stubble. “To Springfield,” Hank added. “Not Canada.”

“That sounds like a conversation that should be held over coffee,” Rose said firmly. “Come inside, it ain’t much, but I cooked some breakfast. The others are up too.”

“How is Simon?” Connor asked before Hank could.

“He will be just fine,” Rose said gently. “And I think he’d probably like to see you two.

Hank and Connor exchanged a look, and Connor seemed - surprised, maybe, a little pleased. Hank tore his eyes away to look back up at Rose. “All right. Suppose we should talk to them about this too.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Rose said. She was sympathetic to them, that much Hank could tell. Maybe to everyone. Was it really so easy? “Okay, inside. Coffee.”

She went in ahead of them, leaving them alone on the porch bench. Hank yawned and stretched, Connor still next to him with his knee pressed into Hank’s like he didn’t want to move. Hank didn’t much want to, either. The weight of everything pressed down on them like the fog, but Hank didn’t even know where to begin, or if he even wanted to.

“You sleep alright?” Hank asked gruffly.

Connor’s hair was sticking up in the front. He still had the ghost of a smile on his face, but it faltered slightly as he considered Hank’s question. “Strangely enough, better than I have recently.”

“Me too, kid,” Hank said, warm under Connor’s gaze.

Connor rubbed his hand over his face a little sheepishly. “I need to shave,” he said, looking down and out over the railing, some sad thought clouding over him, and before Hank even thought about it he was reaching out, rubbing his hand over the side of Connor’s face, letting his thumb rest along his cheek, just barely rough with a night’s worth of stubble.

“There ain’t nothin’ there,” Hank said. It came out weaker than he intended. He felt his heart hammering out of his chest as Connor honest to god leaned into his palm, that sweet smile overtaking his face again, and Hank struggled to pull his hand away, closing it in a fist that he raised to his mouth. Something about Connor made Hank feel softer, warmer, like everything could be as simple as falling asleep on the porch together.

“Your beard’s getting long,” Connor said, propping up his elbow on the back of the bench and leaning on his own hand where Hank’s had just been, his fingers spreading over his cheek.

“I should shave, too,” Hank cleared his throat, trying to shake away the feeling fogging up around them on the porch. “Never really kept it like this.”

“I like it,” Connor said. He was still smiling a little bit. _You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen._ Hank would never forget those words.

He wasn’t likely to forget what Connor said next, either, after Hank said with a laugh, “You just might be the first person on god’s green earth to say that. Cheryl used to hate it, told me to shave all the time. She said it was like kissin’ a grizzly bear.”

“Hmm,” Connor leaned his head onto his hand, regarding Hank from his place on the bench, too close but too far away also. “I wouldn’t know, I suppose.”

Hank huffed out another laugh, quieter this time, more disbelieving. “Connor, please do not fuckin’ tell me you ain’t never been kissed before.” The thought was so foreign to Hank it felt strange to even speak it

“Of course I have,” Connor said with all sincerity. “But never by somebody like you.”

Hank was fairly certain Connor had to have absolutely no idea the effect his words had on Hank, otherwise he would stop saying shit like this or he was going to give Hank a heart attack. As it was, Hank was pretty sure he ascended to heaven on the front porch of this abandoned cursed place. He was also pretty sure he was going insane because he was about a half-second away from leaning forward, taking Connor’s face in both hands and showing him _exactly_ what it was like.

There was a tapping at the window, and then it was pushed open next to them, North’s head popping out. Her hands were tied together in just about the loosest knot Hank had ever seen, just as relaxed as her posture as she leaned on the windowsill regarding them. They jumped apart, putting a couple feet of distance between them. Hank cleared his throat.

“I know y’all probably want some privacy, but I’m starving,” North said pointedly.

Connor scratched at his face where Hank’s hand had been, looking at the woman in the window. “Why would we need privacy?” Connor said innocently.

North sighed. “Just quit your canoodling and get in here so we can eat.”

“So what, you’re just wandering around of your own free will now, making judgments on everyone?” Hank muttered, but he found himself laughing at the expression on Connor’s face, and the way North rolled her eyes. “Alright, ma’am, we’re comin’.”

“Canoodling,” Connor said thoughtfully under his breath as they rose from the bench and North closed the window behind her, and Hank had to smile.

 

~

 

Rose had somehow managed to throw together another meal, and enough for all eight of them at that. More potatoes, roasted this time, and whatever other vegetables had been in the cellar, mushrooms and onions and turnips. Connor grabbed the last of their cheese and dried fruit from the wagon, and they all crammed around the kitchen table, elbow to elbow, and ate.

It was probably the best meal Hank had ever had. They were alive, that would make any old potato taste good, but Rose was genuinely a good cook, and the company wasn’t half bad either. Something about nearly dying could really bring people together, Hank thought.

North and Josh sat at the far end of the table, bickering over the uneven distribution of mushrooms on their plates. Adam was crammed between North and his mother, and very quickly offered his mushrooms to North as soon as she began eyeing his plate.

They had pulled an armchair over for Simon to sit in and prop his leg up on a crate, and he ate with his plate balanced in his lap, looking surprisingly happy for a man who had just been stabbed in the knee. Markus, too, was more talkative than usual. He usually seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but this morning he seemed far more at ease. He kept turning around to look at Simon, like he was making sure he was still there.

And Connor, of course, was seated beside Hank.

Rose sat at the head of the table, looking over them all like a protective mother hen. She insisted Connor take seconds. It was odd, that things felt so light and easy after what had happened, surreal, like a dream.

“How’s the leg, Simon?” Hank asked once everyone was mostly finished and they were settling back with their cups of coffee.

“It hurts,” Simon said honestly. “But Rose said I will recover soon.”

“As long as you take care of it,” she said sternly. “You’ll be just fine.”

“You all did good,” Hank said, then, and the table quieted, everyone’s little conversations stalling as they turned their attention to Hank. He sipped from his coffee, glancing at Connor, who just listened, ready to hear whatever Hank had to say. “That could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”

“Yeah, bastard nearly ripped my hair out,” North said, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed as best she could.

“Nearly did a lot of things,” Hank said sharply. “We best leave this place and get moving again. They may have others waiting for them, or someone might show up asking questions. Can’t get caught in a bad spot like that.” He knew everybody knew this already, but he wanted them to know how important this was, that they all stay safe.

“Come on, that was the most excitement we’ve had in months,” North said.

“North,” Markus warned. “We will deal with whatever comes, but we aren’t looking for trouble.”

“Oh, we may not be looking, but it’ll fucking find us one way or another,” North said. “The fact is that our boy Connor here just shot and killed three men. Was it necessary? Yes, of course it was necessary. But the fact is this probably won’t be the first time we run into something like that. We’re used to it but - “ She glanced at Connor, then. “We’re the ones tied up in that wagon. Can’t do much from in there.”

“This could have just been bad luck,” Josh said, frowning. “Or it could be a sign of things to come.”

“Nobody’s gonna get hurt,” Hank said firmly.

“Not yet,” North said lightly.

Hank opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Blessedly, Connor jumped in and said, “We will take every precaution we can, until we get to Tucson. Nobody is going to get hurt,” he repeated. He glanced at Hank.

“We’re considering going with the Chapmans to Springfield,” Hank said, sensing what Connor was about to say. “It’s out of the way, but I’d like to make sure they get there safely.”

“You think this woman can’t take care of herself?” North said with her eyebrows raised in mock shock. Rose laughed and rose to make more coffee. “Are you being serious, Anderson?”

“Uh, it ain’t that, fucking clearly,” Hank said, not unkindly. “We need supplies and it just so happens Springfield is closer than the next outpost on the westward trail. Might as well take the detour.”

“Traveling in a large group is safer,” Connor said, echoing Hank’s words from the night before.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, considering. The only sound was Adam’s fork scraping across his plate, but he stopped when he realized everyone was looking at him. “They probably would have robbed and killed us if you hadn’t been here,” he muttered into his lap. “You can go wherever you want.”

They all turned to look at Rose, leaning against the counter, but she just gave a shrug and bustled with the coffee pot. “I would be glad if you accompanied us, but you all probably already know that.”

There was silence again. Hank and Connor looked at each other, then at Markus and the others. Markus glanced back at Simon, who bowed his head, and then Markus spoke. “I suppose you’re asking for our opinion on the matter, then.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Suppose I am.”

Markus looked contemplative, as he often did. He had his hands folded in his lap, the ropes binding them together invisible under the table. “If I say we should just go on to Tucson, what would you say, Hank?”

“I would ask why that’s the case.”

“Springfield might hold more than we bargained for,” Markus said. Hank realized he was looking at Connor, and Connor was looking back, like something was being exchanged, something Hank couldn’t decipher. He frowned.

“You think it’ll be dangerous,” he prompted.

“I’m not sure,” Markus admitted, finally pulling his eyes from Connor’s to meet Hank’s gaze again. “However, if you’re both sure, we will go wherever you go.”

“No shit, boss,” North added, breaking the tension that had built up at the table. Josh elbowed her, rolling his eyes.

“So, we’ll go,” Connor said, leaning forward, looking at Markus again, Markus looking back with those unusual eyes, like he was looking deep into something inside of Connor, puzzling something out, and then Markus nodded.

Sumo barked, then, settling his head onto Simon’s lap as he eyed his empty plate. “Sumo agrees,” Simon said quietly, rubbing the big dog’s head with a little smile.

“As do I,” Rose spoke up with a tone of finality. She leaned against the counter, holding the coffee pot in one hand, watching them all. “Can’t say I saw our trip going this way, but perhaps things happen for a reason.”

“They don’t,” Hank said. It was something he had always believed. But this time, with Connor by his side, speaking it aloud almost felt like a lie.

 

~

 

Despite their best efforts, it took a handful of hours to get themselves situated. Rose insisted that they all take a bath, which was a monumental undertaking in itself, and so they all settled for scrubbing down with cold water from the well, Hank watching the dirt and blood drip off of his skin. He hadn’t realized how filthy they all were.

Hank watched Connor shave his face, meticulous and diligent, and remembered the way he looked with that shotgun in his hands. Remembered what he had thought, when they first met. How Connor was going to be uptight and insufferable. How he was too young and inexperienced for this job. What would have happened if Jeffrey hadn’t hired him? What if he had hired someone else? Or nobody at all? What would have happened to Hank, to the gang, to the Chapmans?

What would have happened to Connor?

“Hey Anderson, think you could work this out before we get to Springfield?” North was saying behind him. Hank jumped and turned around, wiping the last of the dirt from his face with a rag, ready to protest, but North was just holding up her braid, looking at him with a little smirk. Rose had given her a change of clothes, a long skirt and sleeveless blouse, and other than the ratty braid hanging from her head and loop of rope around her wrists, she looked like a fairly normal woman. “I need some serious assistance.”

“Alright girl, we got about two weeks before we get up there,” Hank said good naturedly, wondering if North had caught him staring at Connor. “Think it’ll take me just about that long to brush it out.”

Her eyes dragged from Hank, to Connor, and back again, a knowing look on her face. “If we keep taking these detours, you’ll have all the time in the world, old man.”

“Don’t we have a wagon to load up?” Hank wondered. “That’s right, we do, and Rose asked for your help so, skedaddle.”

“Whatever you say, marshal man,” North said with a pointed grin. “Looks like you’re done washing up too, though. Or are you?”

“I’m done,” Hank grunted, definitely not casting one last look towards Connor. “Let’s get a move on.”

 

~

 

Leaving the abandoned outpost almost felt wrong, in some strange way that Hank couldn’t shake off. It felt almost like weeks that they had been there, but almost no time had passed at all, and in that time, awful things had happened, things Hank wouldn’t forget. But good things, too, mixed up with everything else. North and Josh helping to dig the graves. The makeshift tombstones. Markus caring for Simon. Sleeping next to Connor on the porch. Hadn’t it been like this since the beginning of their journey to Tucson? They were on a terrible trip with a deadly destination, each of them pulled westward, but pulled together, somehow, for some reason, maybe. The bright moments poked through the veil of darkness, tiny but becoming so numerous Hank was sure the veil would eventually fall away entirely, like a cloth that had a needle pass through it too many times.

This was what Markus had meant, about Springfield holding more than they expected, Hank was sure of it. The more they did things like this, the harder the rest of this trip was going to be. Hank had known this, since they stopped off back at the river. And yet, Hank couldn’t really bring himself to give a shit anymore.

Hank tried to clear his head and just focus on the task at hand. They loaded their things into the wagon, making sure not to forget anything. They would pass by the outpost again on their way back from Springfield, but Hank doubted they would spend any significant time in this place again. Sumo pissed on just about every corner of the cabin, running around barking in excitement at getting back on the trail.

The oxen and all the horses were excited, too, prancing and stepping in place as they got situated, but as things started to come together, Hank realized something. Simon had to stretch out in the back of the wagon with his leg on the bench, leaving little room inside, especially with the Chapman’s things loaded back there now, too. Maybe one or two others could fit there with him.

“You comfortable?” Hank asked as Simon settled in, leaning against a pile of blankets, his bandaged leg propped up in front of him.

“I suppose I am,” Simon said. His eyes trailed to Markus and the others, waiting behind Hank, and Simon seemed to hesitate. “Markus - “

“There’s plenty of room for both of you,” Hank said resolutely, and then his mouth was moving too fast for his brain again, and he was saying, “Why don’t you two stay in here, and North and Josh can ride with us.”

“Ride?” Josh repeated incredulously.

“We got plenty of horses now,” Hank said, thinking of the four horses left behind by the thieves. “Riding them’ll be a hell of a lot easier than tryin’ to wrangle them all and lead ‘em in a line.” He caught Connor’s eye from where he was standing next to Markus. “Whatta you think about this, kid?”

“I think you’re right,” Connor said. His smile was warm but guarded, like he didn’t want anyone to see how pleased he was, but Hank saw, of course. “If you stay driving the wagon, we will have two horses untethered, but I will lead them behind Daisy.”

“It’s settled, then,” Hank declared before he could change his mind. “Alright Markus, get your ass in here. Time to get this fucked up show on the road.”

It was early afternoon by the time they rumbled back onto the trail, this time curving north.  Hank had kept the ropes around the gang’s wrists, but otherwise let North and Josh ride freely alongside Connor, Rose, and Adam. Sumo bounded ahead, leading the way on the long ambling path to Springfield.

“Everyone good?” Hank called out from the front of the wagon as they fell into shape through the grass.

North whistled from her saddle. “I could get used to this shit!”

“Okay, calm yourself,” Hank said, settling back on the front bench of the wagon with his pipe. “Don’t wanna get them excited or they’ll run off.”

“You talking bout us or the horses?” North teased. “No worries old timer, we’ll stick close by. Can’t go anywhere without half our gang, can we?”

“We should ride as late we can,” Rose said. She looked comfortable in the saddle, her hat pulled low over her eyes. She was leaving behind almost everything, Hank thought. They had mourned Adam’s father, left their home, then been attacked, robbed, lost their wagon and oxen and most of their belongings, and yet she had leaned out of the kitchen window, first with bowls of soup, then with her shotgun. She was brave. But she was kind, too. There wasn’t enough of that in the world. The world was shit. Hank had known that for a long time.

Hank looked around at the people he traveled with, at Connor riding Daisy beside him, and wanted to be wrong.

 

~

 

The next fortnight passed slow and steady. The weather was on the better side of decent, the typical August thunderstorms seeming to pass around them. A couple of days they rode late into the night before stretching out on their blankets, but Hank didn’t mind slowing down, setting up their tents and letting the campfire and conversation continue well towards midnight.

It was easy to fall into a new routine. Connor made coffee each morning, Rose helped tend to Simon, and Hank began handing the reins of the wagon over to North for a few hours each day so he and Adam could strike out in search of rabbits and birds and any vegetables they could forage. Hank, though he wouldn’t fully admit it, kept an eye and ear out for beehives.

It made the most sense to take Adam with him, of all people. He was a good kid, gentle like his mother but with all the fire of a young man dealt a bad hand in life. They hunted good together. Hank was a more experienced shot, but Adam had better eyes, and between the two of them they were able to scrape enough together for Rose to put supper in front of them each night. Hank didn’t mind stretching out their trip, truth be told, but he would be grateful once they loaded up with supplies.

“My dad never took me hunting,” Adam said out of the blue one morning as they followed a group of ducks towards a nearby pond.

Hank paused, the tall grass waving around them. He and Adam hadn’t really spoken much of anything on their daily hunting trips. “Where’d you learn, then? You ain’t half bad at it.”

“I’m better at farming,” Adam said as they continued forward. “My mom taught me both things.”

“Well, color me surprised,” Hank said, amused, not surprised at all.

“When the wagon got attacked I told her…” He was a few steps ahead of Hank, and paused midstep in the sunshine, so quickly Hank nearly barrelled into him. His posture was hunched over, defeated. Hank stepped up next to him, put a hand on his shoulder, listening. “I told her,” he said, more quietly, “this wouldn’t have happened if Dad was here.”

“You can’t think about shit like that, son,” Hank said. “You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“I didn’t even really mean it,” Adam said. He looked embarrassed at himself. “She’s all I got.”

“She’s a good woman,” Hank said, adding firmly, “and she raised a good son.”

Adam took a deep breath, then turned and gave Hank a small, unsure smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Hank said, shouldering past him to continue on their search. “Thank your mother.”

After they caught the ducks and dug up a few wild beets along the way, they started the walk back to the horses. They would have to gallop ahead to catch up to the wagon, but it wouldn’t take too long. Hank was deep in thought as they got back in their saddles, but before they rode off, Adam spoke again.

“You would’ve been a good father, you know, ” he said, settling in his saddle.

And Hank nearly told him, nearly said it aloud, _I was_ , and why in god’s name Adam Chapman was about to be the person Hank bared his soul to, Hank wasn’t sure, not in that moment, at least.

That night, Hank dreamt he took Cole hunting, and instead of shooting the duck Cole caught it with both hands, laughing, laughing.

 

~

 

Having a large group was good for safety, but poor for traveling, and Hank knew they weren’t making as good time as they should have. Two weeks passed and they were still several days out from Springfield. Josh was the one who pointed out the signpost, a large, worn-down thing covered in old paint.

“We’ve passed through here before,” Josh said. “I recognize it now.”

“That was a long time ago,” North called out. “Trust me, nobody’s gonna remember your ass.”

“My face, maybe not,” Josh shot back. “But my ass could never be forgotten.”

“Ooh, I’ll tell them to carve that on your gravestone,” North said appreciatively.

“You two bicker as if you’ve been married for years,” Rose said.

“Feels more like you’re my brother I just can’t seem to fucking get rid of,” North said, and while the others laughed, Hank watched Connor, tense in his saddle, gripping onto Daisy’s reins like he was about to float away. Hank tried to catch his eye, but Connor was far away, lost in thought, lost in memories, probably. Hank wondered what Connor’s brother was like. He wanted to ask, wanted to know everything. But there was something that stopped him. Hank wasn’t sure, exactly, but he had a feeling something had gone deeply wrong between them. Like Connor was trying to atone for something, to apologize, and that was why he had to find his brother. Hank didn’t even know his name.

He told himself he would find out, that he would keep Connor up late into the night, talking beside the campfire, telling each other all their secrets. Connor wasn’t the only one who hadn’t shared everything. Hank had been sure he could get through this journey without talking about Cole because - he had gotten through every journey without talking about Cole. And yet Cole was _here,_ in Hank’s dreams, in the waving grass, in the laughter of the others, in his excursions with Adam, and it was on the tip of his tongue, it was just about ready to come out when he least expected it to. Hank wasn’t frightened by much. But this, the idea of talking about Cole and telling them everything - telling Connor everything - made Hank feel nauseated. He wondered if Connor was feeling the same way, about his own past, whatever it was. And yet, Hank still wanted to know.

They continued on, towards Springfield.

 

~

 

As the afternoon waned, they drove the wagon and horses off the side of the trail, finding a good flat spot to camp only a dozen paces from the main road. It was maybe a little too early to stop, but they all seemed to be in agreement on it, so Hank didn’t care. Everyone scattered to their routine - Connor built the fire and started a pot of water for stew, Adam and Josh got the tents up, North skinned the rabbits Hank had shot that morning, and Hank and Rose helped Markus and Simon from the wagon.

“Put your weight on it honey, come on, that’s good,” Rose said encouragingly as Simon stepped out. His leg was healing nicely. If Hank was a cruel man, he would have crammed the rest of the gang into the wagon next to Simon, leaving him no space to rest. Or made him walk in the grass ahead of them. Hank knew men that would do such a thing, or worse. Instead, Simon was smiling a little bit, leaning on Markus as he tried taking a few steps towards the campfire.

Rose joined the others, too, starting to cook, and North sat beside her, having delegated the insurmountable task of brushing her hair to Adam, who did it without complaint. Hank had to shake his head and laugh.

Connor had climbed up to the top of the wagon, surveying the landscape, and now he climbed down to join them too. “There’s another traveler ahead on the trail,” Connor informed them. “I saw them in the distance earlier, but it does look like they’re approaching us from the north.”

“Alright, well, we’ll just let ‘em pass, I think,” Hank said. “Ain’t nothin’ odd about our little caravan here, is there?”

“Don’t lie to him Anderson,” North called out.

“You’re startin’ to get on my damn nerves,” Hank said, not unkindly.

“Imagine being locked up in a prison cell together,” Markus said, the hint of a smile on his face, and then the Jericho gang were all bantering, talking over each other and trading bits of old conversations like they already knew what the next person was going to say. Hank had to admit, it was good to see them all getting along, the camaraderie from the earlier days of their journey restored. Hank found it a little hard to believe that it had only been weeks since North had attacked him, but time just seemed to stretch differently on the trail.

As the sun began to set and the darkness creeped in around them, Rose cooked and they all drank and talked. Hank packed up his tobacco pipe and passed it off to the others. Adam had given up on North’s hair for now, but he was leaning against the wagon with her and Josh, passing the pipe back and forth. Markus and Simon shared a blanket, telling some story to Rose that Hank was only half-listening to. He sat down by Connor at the fire, offering his whiskey, but Connor only took one swig before handing it back. He was full of nervous energy, fidgeting and opening and closing his journal, pacing up to the trail and back again every so often.

Hank was watching for the stranger, too, waiting for him, but truth be told, mostly he was just watching Connor, at least until they heard a sound - a deep, low sound, no words Hank could make out just yet, but it echoed through the empty rolling grass.

Connor stood, and Hank stood, too, listening.

“He’s singing,” Connor said quietly.

Hank put his hand on the small of Connor’s back, just resting it there comfortably, leaning in to speak more closely with Connor. “He’s probably not even gonna say shit to us. A man still traveling at this hour has got somewhere to be. He doesn’t have time for our bullshit.”

“Let’s hope not,” Connor said, troubled.

“Hey, kid, we’re good, all right?” Hank didn’t move his hand. Connor didn’t move away. “We’re good.”

The song grew a bit clearer, and Hank could see everyone else listening, too, exchanging glances with each other, and then Sumo was barking excitedly, loping away from where he had been laying with Simon and Markus. He disappeared into the shadows of the trail ahead of them. The singing stopped. Hank put his free hand on his holster.

Sumo reappeared, proudly leading toward a small two-horse wagon with just about the biggest man Hank had ever seen at its front. He could sense Connor’s tension, and with good reason. That man looked like he could crush Hank into dust with one hand. Just the man you’d want to fucking see after the last strangers you met tried to rob and kill you. Fucking Christ, Hank needed to get his pipe back.

“Good evening, folks,” the man called out in that deep, rumbling voice. He brought his horses to a halt, both of them placid as Sumo touched noses with them.

“Good evening,” Hank returned. The others had quieted, by the wagon and the fire, and Connor stood beside him still. Hank stepped forward in front of him. “Safe travels?”

In the flickering light and shadow, it was hard to make out the man’s features, but his body undeniably matched his voice, big and broad. “Ran into some trouble up by Springfield,” he said, and Hank heard Connor shifting behind him. “Y’all heading that way?”

“Depends on the trouble,” Hank said.

“Just been a bout of storms up north,” the man said. “Best be careful crossing the river. The water is high and the river man ain’t worth a damn.”

Hank felt relieved, then, thinking the man was going to say there were more thieves up ahead. A river crossing could be dangerous, but Hank had done them hundreds of times and he wasn’t concerned. Anything in the world could be dangerous. He expected Connor to share the same sentiment. Instead, Connor seemed even more on edge than before, his jaw clenched tight when Hank turned to glance back at him.

“Why don’t you set down and join us for supper,” Rose said before Hank could say anything else. Connor started to protest, but he seemed to just as quickly think better of it, and shut his mouth. He was puzzling something out, it was written all over his face, and then he shifted a bit, seeming more sure of himself now.

“No thank you ma’am, wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“We were just about to eat,” she said firmly. “Where are you heading to?”

 

~

 

And so the stranger joined them. Luther was his name, he said. He was somehow more intimidating and yet more personable up close. He was big, broad-shouldered and built like one of the oxen, but with their same friendly, calm demeanor. He seemed unbothered both by the gang’s presence, and the easy way they sat around the camp when they should have probably been bound up in the wagon.

Everyone was on edge at first, especially the gang, but as they settled around the fire and fell into easy conversation, Hank even found himself loosening up. Luther had a barrel of whiskey in his little wagon, and he pulled it out for them to share, which Hank instantly respected. Connor filled his cup, too, and sat on his stool next to Hank, talking with Luther.

“Can’t be going far with just a two-horse cart,” Hank said. “You heading home, or away?”

“Home,” Luther said with a small, private smile. “I make this trip three times a year for supplies. It’s about three weeks journey each way, and I usually stop to see patients along the trail. But I admit I don’t enjoy being away from my family for too long.”

“You’re a doctor,” Hank said, pushing away the weird twist in his chest, and he found himself looking over at Markus and Simon.

“Yes,” Luther said, following Hank’s gaze to Simon’s propped up, bandaged leg. “You look well-cared for, but I could examine the injury if you would like.”

“I patched him up, but I’m no doctor,” Rose said. “Honey, what do you think?”

“Okay,” Simon agreed, exchanging a glance with Markus. “After we eat.”

“Any news out of Springfield?” Connor asked. His face was shadowy as he sipped his whiskey next to Hank. “None of us have been through there in some time.”

“No, it is always the same,” Luther said thoughtfully. “The camps around the outpost have grown. More people staying there in permanence, instead of just passing through. Soon it may be an honest town, instead of a trading post. Never thought I’d see that day, but, stranger things have happened in this world.”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me,” North said, but then Markus said her name, almost like warning, cutting off whatever she was about to say next, and for once she actually fell quiet.

“Where are y’all coming from, then?” Luther asked.

“Texas,” Rose provided, blessedly. “Traveling all the way north to Canada.”

“So you’re just at the start,” Luther said with a small smile. “Best wishes. If you ever find yourself down south again, my house is just inside the border of the territory. It’s safe there.”

Hank knew exactly what he meant. A safe house was a place anyone could come through and be unbothered. A killer and a bounty hunter and a sheriff and a thief could all set down at the same dinner table and get a hot meal without worrying about themselves. Whatever happened outside was the lord’s business, but everyone in the west understood the unspoken contract of a safe house.

Hank relaxed. Luther meant them no trouble. And as the conversation continued on, Hank found that Connor kept ducking over to the whiskey barrel, filling his and Hank’s cups up at around the same pace. Unusual for him. Things were relaxed around the campfire. Sumo had fallen in love with Luther, and the big man had easily lifted the big dog into his lap, holding him like it was nothing. Sumo had never looked happier. The blistering summer heat of the daytime gave way to a chill over the open plains, but it wouldn’t start freezing at night yet, not for another couple of months. But Hank gave Connor his jacket to wear, anyway.

Luther eventually examined Simon’s leg, praising Rose’s attention to it, explaining to Simon and Markus both how the wound was healing. He talked with them as if he knew them already, easy and friendly.

“Around this time Rose would usually be telling us to get some shut-eye,” Connor whispered to Hank as if it were some great secret. “But I think she might be drunk.”

“I can hear you,” Rose said good naturedly. “And I certainly am not. Us old timers can hold our liquor, you know.”

“She’s right, kid,” Hank said, nudging Connor’s shoulder with his own. He was smiling. He looked relaxed, on the right side of buzzed up, his face warm in the firelight. “We’ve been sitting drinking around campfires since before y’all were even born.”

“It’s nice to have good company,” Rose said, the _for now_ unspoken afterwards.

“Why don’t you get that banjo out of the wagon?” North suggested. Hank gestured to her to give back his tobacco pipe, and she reluctantly obliged.

“Tonight’s a good night for some campfire songs,” Connor agreed, brightening up at the suggestion.

“Oh,” Rose said with a slight laugh, a wave of her hand. “That was my husband’s. Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I can’t play.”

“I can,” Markus said, then, and everyone looked at him, sitting on the blanket with Simon.

There was a long pause and then Josh said, “He’s actually quite good.”

“We heard you singing on your way here, doctor,” Rose said with a smile. “Got an ear for music?”

“Indeed I do,” Luther said, “but I ain’t never seen a man play a banjo with his hands tied together.”

Connor was looking at Hank, then, his expression curious, thoughtful, and how easy it was, to just give in to it. Hank realized, then, that _everyone_ was looking at him, not just Connor, and he cleared his throat.

“One song,” Hank said. “I’ll untie you.”

 

~

 

Markus played the banjo late into the night, just about every song he could remember, Hank figured, and Josh had been right, he _was_ good. He picked at the strings awkwardly, at first, but once he got comfortable, he looked natural and relaxed, sitting by the fire on the blanket next to Simon and strumming away. Everyone knew different versions of the same folk songs, and Hank and Connor sat together, listening to the others singing and laughing and trading lyrics and stories. Hank wasn’t much for singing, and neither was Connor, it seemed, but it was enough to sit and listen, drinking more whiskey and watching Connor grow loose and relaxed on the stool next to him, until he was grinning that lopsided grin and leaning into Hank and laughing at the dirty words North was substituting into the song.

Adam fell asleep sitting cross-legged by the fire, his arms over his chest and head lolling onto North’s shoulder. She didn’t push him off, like Hank expected her to. Connor stood and moved to the wagon, grabbing a blanket to toss over Adam’s lap, and Rose caught Hank’s eye as they both watched Connor moving through the campsite, a silent, unasked for gesture that made Hank’s chest ache. Rose was smiling.

But after Connor had done it, he stretched and yawned, a little unsteady on his feet, and though he rejoined Hank by the fire, after a few minutes he excused himself to bed, stumbling off around the opposite side of the wagon where their tents were set up. The conversation continued around Hank, but once Connor was gone he was instantly distracted, one half of his mind at the campfire and the other half in Connor’s tent.

He was pretty drunk, too, he knew that. The last few years, Hank was usually at least some degree of drunk, but in the last few weeks on the road, Hank had found himself reaching for his bottle less and less, though of course the need was still there. It was better, though, to share the feeling with others, with Connor, instead of just drinking himself into a stupor alone.

And it was nothing against the rest of his little group on the side of the trail, but at that moment, Hank found himself a little downtrodden that Connor had gone to bed already. He felt like maybe he could have stayed up all night, as long as Connor was sitting next to him and laughing and leaning in and wearing his jacket.

It had been such a long time since he had felt such synchronicity with someone. Connor was unlike anyone he had ever known, and the knowledge that in a couple of months they would part ways and Hank would probably never see him again was enough to make Hank fill up another cup of whiskey. Hank had never wanted to hang onto a partner before, to return to Covington together with him and go back out on another job. At the same time, he didn’t want to return to Covington at all. He wasn’t even entirely sure he wanted to go to Tucson. Hell, he didn’t even want to go to fucking Springfield anymore. He would be perfectly fine if they just stuck around this campfire until he withered up and died. As long as Connor was sitting next to him. And laughing, and wearing his jacket, and leaning in, and maybe -

Fuck, Hank was too damn old for this shit. He scrubbed his hand over his face, drained the last of his cup and stood.

“Excuse me y’all, but this old timer is going to bed,” Hank said. “Let me get you all situated.”

“Aw, come on Anderson!” North protested. Luther and Rose both looked on in amusement at the gang tangled up next to each other on the ground. Hank put his hands on his hips and looked down at them too, feeling more like a father than he had in many years.

“We need to get some fucking sleep,” Hank said firmly. “At least, I do. And before I do, I need to put you all to bed.”

“Don’t worry honey, I can take care of them,” Rose said with a little smile. “I think I can handle it.”

Not that long ago Hank would have said, _hell no._ He wasn’t supposed to leave his prisoners in the charge of someone else, not even for a little bit of time. He could practically see Fowler standing there, watching with disapproval, but it was easy to brush the image away, not for the first time. The temptation of curling up in his blankets and passing the fuck out with no worries was just close enough to touch, and Rose was handing it right to him.

“Fine,” Hank agreed, maybe too easily, but nobody seemed mad about it, anyway. “Well, you come wake me up if y’all need anything.”

It didn’t seem like Luther was leaving anytime soon, and Hank was fairly sure the man would end up camping alongside them that night, especially if Sumo had anything to say about it. Hank would be up early for coffee, but he bid goodbye to Luther just in case.

“If you’re passing through the territory off the Fort Smith trail,” Luther said again, “stop in for a hot meal. My wife is a fantastic cook. If only I could get her and Rose together.”

“Maybe in some other life,” Rose said with a light smile. “Get some rest, Hank.”

 

~

 

Hank washed up and grabbed his canteen, then made his way in the darkness to his tent. The moon was half-full, casting just enough light over the plains for Hank to pick his way around the side of the wagon. Connor’s tent was closer, and Hank felt a surge of affection as he passed by it, like he had that one morning by the river, watching Connor sleeping through the crack in the fabric.

Hank allowed himself to look, telling himself he was just checking on him, and with a deep and terrible dread he realized the tent was empty.

For one awful instant Hank imagined that Connor had left. That he had simply grabbed his things and taken off into the night. It was irrational, but Hank thought of it anyway. And then he thought of other things; Connor alone in the darkness, lost and drunk and unable to find his way back; the jackals howling off in the distance; the river, how far was the river, what if Connor wandered up there and lost his footing and -

Hank saw movement inside his own tent, just the blankets shifting, and he let out a long exhale, an absolutely soul-crushing relief coming down over him as he moved closer and peeked his head in.

“You’re in the wrong tent, kid,” he said, unable to stop his laugh at the sight of Connor sticking his head up out of the blankets, bleary eyed and blinking as he recognized Hank standing there.

“Yeah,” Connor yawned with a little lopsided smile. “Maybe.”

“Well, move over then,” Hank said, and Connor did, rolling over to the side of the tent so Hank could slip in next to him. “Took all the blankets,” he grumbled.

“It’s _cold_ ,” Connor protested, and as if to support his point, he reached his hand out and grabbed Hank’s, squeezing. “Too cold.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. He didn’t let go of Connor’s hand.

“Where’s Sumo?” Connor whispered. He didn’t let go, either.

“Still out with the others,” Hank said gruffly. “He’ll show up just when you think you can doze off, just you wait.”

Connor hummed thoughtfully, but neither of them moved, and Hank felt warm and comfortable under the blankets next to Connor. Connor was looking up at the top of the tent, seemingly lost in thought. Hank nearly began to nod off to the sounds of the others still talking and singing and the campfire crackling, but eventually Connor rolled over onto his side, letting Hank’s hand go as he faced him, curled into the blankets, and Hank was instantly awake.

“Can I tell you something Hank?” Connor whispered. A funny little drunken smile sat over his face, making him look bright and mischievous. He was so close, Hank could smell the liquor on his breath. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out Connor’s own, looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah, kid,” Hank said, breathing out through his nose a heavy breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He had a funny feeling in his chest, a feeling he had only become reacquainted with when Connor appeared in his life, but it felt closer this time, like he could actually recognize it, maybe put a name to it and bring it out into the open where it belonged.

“Markus and Simon are in love,” Connor declared, and at that, Hank _had_ to laugh.

“I thought that was a fairly clear fact,” Hank teased, watching Connor honest to god pout.

“I thought it was a secret,” Connor said. “They don’t make a big show of it.”

“Maybe that’s just their way,” Hank said with a little shrug. “I imagine at first they didn’t want to reveal too much to us. Like we might have used it against them, I don’t know. Some men do that.”

“You don’t,” Connor said. He was still facing Hank.

“No,” Hank said. “I don’t.”

“How are you so good?” Connor whispered, and the words seized upon Hank like a train barreling him over, crushing the breath from his lungs in their earnestness.

“I’m not, kid,” Hank said. “You got a strange barometer for good.”

Connor actually laughed a little bit, at that, but it was a strange laugh, self-deprecating. “I suppose I do.”

“Why are you doing this, Connor?” Hank found himself asking, the whiskey wearing away at the borders of his self-control. “Tell me, really. Why are you on this job?”

Connor pursed his lips together, hesitating, and Hank was sure he had asked the wrong question, but Connor answered anyway, for the first time. “It was the truth, what I told you, or part of it at least. I wanted to get west, to find my brother, and I still do - but I also felt like I needed to - do something. I spent years just sitting in my house feeling sorry for myself alone…”

Hank was hanging on to Connor’s every word, and he found himself pulling Connor closer, to his chest like they had slept on the porch together, his arm around him, and Connor settled in like he belonged there.

“I did things I’m not proud of,” Connor said, a little more boldly now that his face was pressed into Hank’s side. “A lot of things. And I suppose I felt like doing this job would be a step towards some kind of atonement for that and - it actually does feel that way, but not in the way I expected it would. I bet that sounds insane,” Connor trailed off with a huff of laughter, buried into Hank’s shirt. “I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

“I am too,” Hank said, his hand resting around Connor’s back, rubbing absent circles on his shoulder under the blanket. Connor’s words were so familiar, Hank may as well have spoken them himself. “But it makes perfect fuckin’ sense to me.”

“I don’t even want to go to Tucson,” Connor blurted out, frozen in place, stuck to Hank’s side. It seemed he was holding his breath. “I know you - we - have to but - I don’t even want to go.”

“You thinkin’ about leavin’? Going off on your own instead of finishing this?” Hank pulled back, his heart leaping up into his throat as he tried to get a look at Connor, but Connor refused, just shook his head, his eyes looking off somewhere into the tent.

“No,” Connor said forcefully. “Fuck no.”

“All right,” Hank said, his turn to laugh, a little breathlessly. He pulled Connor up close to him. “All right.”

“I’m just scared,” Connor said. His hand was on Hank’s chest, fisted into the fabric of his shirt, holding on for dear life suddenly. “I’m scared to let them die and...I’m scared it will be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Hank repeated, head spinning at Connor’s words, the same words he had been thinking for weeks now about the gang. He pushed the feeling to the side; it was too massive to confront now, in the darkness. He pulled Connor closer, squeezing his shoulder. “Please, kid. I’ve seen worse.”

“Hank,” Connor said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Kid, I’ve survived fifty three years on this bitch of an earth,” Hank muttered. “Still alive somehow. Not much can hurt me anymore.”

Connor was warm and still at his side. His answer was so quiet Hank nearly missed it. “I can,” he whispered.

Hank gathered him up in his arms, fully, pulling him all the way close to his body, embracing him as close as he could. His chest felt like it was going to split in two, and he was sure Connor could hear it, the way his heart battered against his ribs, as Hank thought about telling Connor everything. “I dunno, Connor,” Hank said, pressing his cheek into the top of Connor’s head, his mouth against his hair. “I think you actually might be healin’ me.”

Whatever else Hank would have said was interrupted as Sumo crashed his way into the tent, slobbering all over both of their faces excitedly, and Connor was rolling around and laughing, and the ache in Hank’s soul lightened with the sound, and he was laughing too.

They fell asleep with Sumo between them under the blankets, the sound of laughter and music drifting around them, the frogs and bugs chirping, Luther’s deep voice singing along with Markus, and just before he fell asleep, Connor reached for Hank’s hand again and held it tightly.

 

~

 

Hank slept better than he had in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the beat of my drum meets the beat of your heart  
> You know I couldn’t love any other, any other  
> There is where I come from, this is where I belong  
> With the beat of your drum, not any other
> 
> [Crystallized - Young the Giant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0jEy4wDxiw&feature=youtu.be)


	22. don’t let me in with no intention to keep me

“Reed.”

“Shut up,” Gavin groaned, pulling his blankets over his face.

“Reed, I know you are awake.”

“I’m not awake, you gigantic ass.” Gavin’s head throbbed. His back hurt from sleeping on a rock. He had drunk himself into a stupor the night before, as he had for the last several nights, trying to ensure he wouldn’t dream, or at the very least, wouldn’t remember it. Gavin was beginning to lose count of how long it had been since they left the cave in the mountains. He knew where they were - coming down into the San Luis Valley, crossing through the rest of the hills and scattered pines, heading east towards Monte Vista, but that was about all he could think about now.

“I can hear you, Reed,” Nine said in a tilting, mocking voice, and _that_ made Gavin sit up and scramble out of the tent, hitching his pants up around his hips defensively. He was pretty sure he hadn’t said or dreamed anything embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask. Gavin’s face was red, but he shielded it with his hand, peering out into the sun and over at Nine.

“What the fuck do you want?” Gavin demanded.

“It is nearly noon.”

“The hell it is,” Gavin muttered, even though Nine was probably right. “We’ll leave after we eat.”

“I would like a cigarette,” Nine said as Gavin pulled his tobacco from his pocket, and Gavin huffed out a disbelieving, harsh laugh, turning away from the sun to hide his ever-reddening face. He stared down at his fingers and remembered, and just as quickly put his tobacco away. Suddenly he didn’t even want one. He was sure he would just feel worse. Nine was just fucking with him, like he always was.

Nine’s eyes tracked him, how he paused by his tent, then decided not to smoke a cigarette for… hell, probably the first time ever. Gavin could feel Nine watching him, as he had been for days now, watching, like he was waiting for something.

“Changed my mind,” Gavin muttered by way of explanation. “Not hungry. Let’s get out of here.”

Nine was quiet as they traveled forward along the river. Gavin knew that if they followed it long enough, it would meander east, cutting across the southeast corner of Colorado. There were too many people out that way, too many trails and trading posts. Gavin didn’t want to go too far down into the deserts and dry plains, either, so they would have to cut down and skirt along the southern border of Colorado. Once they reached Kenton, Plainview was a week’s ride south, give or take. Like Gavin had said, Nine would hang before the leaves changed color.

Gavin didn’t enjoy autumn, winter, or anything in between. The fallen leaves smelled like death and decay; relentless snow and ice always drove him to dark thoughts. At least it would be warm later into the fall, once they reached Texas. Maybe it would never even snow at all. 

 

~

 

The problem was that Gavin had fucking eyes.

That was really the crux of the entire issue, was that Gavin had to look at Nine all day and night, and the more he looked at him, the more he saw the man beneath the crimes and the ropes and the dirt of their journey spread over him. He remembered seeing him all the way back in Idaho, in that shot-up rundown little cabin where Nine had put the gun in his face and told him to turn away. He had been cleanshaven, his hair cut short and damp from the snow, all wrapped up in that white mink coat that Gavin not-so-secretly wanted. He looked good, then, all flushed and freckled and healthy, staring at Gavin with those iron eyes, looking almost amused at Gavin’s presence, as he always did. Like he was so puzzled by Gavin’s inability to leave Nine alone.

Things had changed, since then, but they also hadn’t. Nine still looked at Gavin like that. But everything about him had become sharper, the lines of his face, the way he held himself, the way he spoke to Gavin, most of the time. And Gavin was spending a hell of a lot of time pretending like he wasn’t looking back, looking for the answer to questions he couldn’t even begin to reason out.

In the last couple of weeks since they had left the cave behind in the mountains, things had grown even more charged between them. Nine had been odd - more cutting than usual with his comments, more mouthy, teasing and insulting Gavin to an extent he had almost never reached before - but only when he did speak with him. Most of the time he was silent, indifferent. He never gave into an argument, though Gavin tried his best to begin them. He was composed and dignified as usual, an incredible contrast to Gavin, who was a complete fucking wreck.

And he was sure Nine was going to bring it up, that night in the cave. To laugh at him and make light of it in a way that maybe, then, would let Gavin forget about it - but he never did, never explained why he said Gavin’s name, never said how much heard. And so Gavin could only imagine, and his shame over the entire fucking stupid thing grew and grew until it was nearly all he could think about. But, just like Nine, he wouldn’t dare speak about it aloud.

And so everything simmered there, just under the surface of everything they said and did. Gavin had the very distinct sensation that he hadn’t felt this way since he was maybe sixteen years old. Nervous to be around somebody. Something else he wouldn’t ever fucking dare say.

It was getting harder and harder to look at him. Looking at him felt mortifying. Gavin wouldn’t have called himself a good man, but even he had his standards, and taking advantage of someone you captured was a disgusting act in his eyes. He hadn’t even done it, just dreamed it - and thought about it, though he did his best to fight that away - but it still felt like a betrayal of his own fucked up moral code. He knew men who wouldn’t have hesitated, to take whatever they wanted, but Gavin would never consider it. It was something his father would have done, and Gavin was not like his father.

As they arrived in Monte Vista, a signpost at the crossroads outside town pointing in each possible direction, all the numerous trails they could take. La Junta, 200 miles north, Springfield, 350 miles east, Kenton, 300 miles, south. Monte Vista, one mile. Gavin felt like he was looking at his own brain, all the different trails and paths he could have taken, and the ones he did - to the Bullpen, to the cliff, to Lou Burns. To Nine, always to Nine. 

“We are approaching Monte Vista,” Nine said, nodding towards the town off in the distance.

“Yeah, no shit,” Gavin muttered. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “We’re gonna get some shit and get out of here.”

“It is absurd to even enter the town.”

“We need supplies,” Gavin said through gritted teeth.

“You need whiskey,” Nine said pointedly, making Gavin grimace. “This is a well-populated area.”

“We ain’t stayin’ long,” Gavin said. “We’ll be outta here and on our way to Kenton within the hour so, save your breath.”

Still, as they entered town, Gavin found himself lingering outside the sheriff’s office, looking at the board outside.

“You know anybody on here?” Gavin asked, glancing over the numerous posters, some familiar faces, stories Gavin had heard on the road. “The Ortiz Gang - I met a old man after them up north - Andronikov, Briggs, fuckin’ Lou is even on here still.” Gavin reached up and tore it off with an unexpected fierceness, then ripped it in half, letting the pieces scatter off into the wind. “Don’t need this anymore.”

“You could take down mine then, as well,” Nine said, then, just as Gavin’s eyes fell on it; Nine’s poster. A stranger. They didn’t even get his eyes right. Gavin grabbed it just as quickly, but didn’t rip it, just folded it and put it in his pocket.

He looked at Nine, the red bandana across his face, eyes fixed down on Gavin, disdainful or amused or - something. Gavin turned away, glowering. “Come on,” he said. 

“As if I have a choice,” Nine said in a dry voice. Gavin wanted to strangle him.

“Fuck you,” Gavin said without looking back.

True to his word, the sun had barely moved in the sky before Gavin was done, and they were back on the trail. They crossed the river - barely more than a creek, at this particular area - and continued south, where the sign pointed, Kenton. 300 miles, and then the week’s ride to Plainview, and that was the end.

For Nine, at least. Gavin wasn’t so sure about himself, yet.

 

~

 

Gavin had always figured he would just keep doing this until he dropped dead. It was all he knew, all he was really good at. Some men retired, though Gavin would have to be a lot older to be lumped into that category. They’d go off to their farms or their small-town sheriff positions or their transport jobs and, presumably, they were happy with that. Gavin wasn’t sure he would be. The idea of just existing in the world and not chasing after something, no puzzles or riddles to solve, no point, no reason. He was about to bring an end to the greatest chase of his life as it was. He figured he’d spend the rest of his life searching for this same feeling, the same satisfaction he felt when he surprised Nine, when Nine surprised him, and best of all, when Gavin understood exactly what he was thinking. Those moments had been few and far between, but Gavin savored them. He knew why he drew such satisfaction from them. Solving the mystery of Nine’s mind was one of the only things Gavin had ever cared about. He wondered if he still had enough time, to learn more. He had a feeling that there would never be enough time.

Gavin was halfway to drunk by the time the sun began to set and they had to find a place to make camp. The scattered pine trees had formed up into an honest forest, sloping down a hill along the river. They would leave its guiding path soon, but for nearly two weeks they had followed it. Now it took them down a rocky near-cliff that the horses carefully picked their way down. The river followed, spilling over into a small waterfall that ended in a pond, tucked up against the rocks. There was enough of a clearing to set up camp, and it was secluded, covered by the encroaching trees.

Gavin eased Apple to a stop, tugging on Nine’s rope without a word so they paused by the water. “Here,” Gavin announced unceremoniously. “I’m gonna build a proper fire.”

It was a clear, starry night, the moon full above them, the sound of the waterfall steady and calming. Gavin rolled a cigarette as he worked, tying Nine to one of the pines and starting a fire. Nine hadn’t asked for another cigarette, pretty fucking wisely. Gavin wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself if he did. He’d either drown Nine in the pond, or run off into the woods to furiously get himself off. He wasn’t sure which one was worse.

They ate and sat by the fire. Gavin didn’t say much, and neither did Nine, for once. Gavin wanted to pick a fight, not even a fight, really, just a little bickering, some release of the tension in the air. At the same time, he was half-hoping Nine wouldn’t say another word until they reached Plainview.

“You have been very quiet,” Nine commented some time later, as Gavin rolled another cigarette.

Gavin eyed him suspiciously. “So have you, asshole.”

“I am contemplating my own demise.”

“Christ almighty,” Gavin said. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“You find me interesting,” Nine said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which Gavin found disconcerting in its truth.

“Yeah, you’re the crazy murdering son of the god damn Rose Killer, of course you’re fuckin’ interesting,” Gavin said sharply, and Nine just regarded him in the fire and moonlight.

“That is all I am, I suppose,” he finally said.

Gavin wanted to say something else, then, something like, You’re too smart for your own good, you have a sick sense of humor about shit and you saved my life. But instead he just took another sip of whiskey and said, “You smell like shit.”

Of course, Nine just had to laugh at that, and Gavin’s body involuntarily stood up, making him pace closer to the river for a second, before turning around. Nine had his head tilted to the side, watching him with the remains of a smile on his face. He smiled all the time now, even as they got closer to Plainview, but Gavin felt like he hadn’t seen it in a while.

“That tends to happen to someone in my position,” Nine said. “But I quite expected I would be arriving to Plainview covered in my own filth.” He scrunched his nose up at that, frowning. “I do hope they will let me bathe before I hang in front of a crowd.”

And Gavin was the one laughing, then, shaking his head into another drink of his bottle. “I fuckin’ doubt it.” And because this was the most words they had exchanged in days, Gavin couldn’t help but press on, “If you’re lucky, some sad old man will give you a sponge bath.”

“I don’t suppose you are referring to yourself,” Nine said, and the moment was instantly gone.

“No, you fucking asshole,” Gavin spat out like it burned. Nine was so - infuriating. “You should be glad I even let you fucking speak to me.”

“Should I?” Gavin was ready, waiting, his fists clenched, a thousand insults just at the very tip of his tongue, and then Nine kept going, “I suppose I should be grateful that you don’t beat me within an inch of my life or inflict any other manner of  cruelties. Lesser men would have done much more than that.”

“Don’t take it as some type of fuckin’ pity, alright,” Gavin said. “I got a way of doin’ things, the right way.”

“If you must strike a blow, my personal hygiene does seem a worthy target.”

“You don’t even give a shit,” Gavin said. “All you give a shit about is whether your beard stays or goes.”

“There is no time like the present,” Nine said matter of factly. “We are likely to run into other travelers soon.”

“I am not fucking going to shave your fucking beard, Nine,” Gavin said, harsh and sharp but exhilarated with their conversation, just on the other side of an argument. “I’m not gonna do shit to you, okay? I’m not gonna lay a god damned hand on your pretty face, so stop asking.”

“So I suppose the sponge bath is truly off the table,” Nine said after a long moment.

And Gavin wanted to laugh, feeling almost relieved, but for some reason he said instead, “Get in the water.”

Nine’s eyes widened, his self-satisfied smirk disappearing instantly off of his face, dropping into another expression entirely, and Gavin said, nearly spitting whiskey all over himself in the process, “I’m not gonna fucking touch you, dumbass. But you can… you know. Wash your ass, or whatever.”

“You’re going to untie me?” Nine said, sounding more curious than anything else.

“I guess,” Gavin said. Suddenly he wanted to take it back, because this meant he had to step closer to Nine and untie him from the tree, and even though these moments were necessary Gavin preferred to do them as quickly as possible. “I’ll leave the one… around your neck. Don’t get any funny ideas or I swear to god, I’ll shoot you.”

It was embarrassing that they both knew it was a lie, but Gavin said it anyway, and Nine nodded, once, in acceptance, still with that completely perplexed look on his face as he watched Gavin grab his pack and shuffle around for his soap and another pouch of tobacco. He dropped everything unceremoniously by the side of the pond, and then moved over to Nine.

He did it fast, but that was no great feat; he had done this hundreds and hundreds of times now. The ropes dropped away from Nine’s chest, leaving only the rope looped around his neck. Usually Gavin would have tied his hands, but this time, he left them free. He kept one hand on his gun, one hand twisted in the end of Nine’s rope, as he took a big step back, waiting for Nine to move.

Nine flexed his long hands in his lap. It wasn’t often Gavin didn’t keep his wrists tied. Even from where he stood, Gavin could see the skin on Nine’s knuckles and forearms rubbed red and raw, the dirt caked to every part of his body, all the scars and scabs and bruises, and still, the dignified way he held himself as he stood, brushing his palms down his shirt and straightening it to face Gavin. Gavin’s heart was pounding. Nine made no move to come towards Gavin, to try to attack or overtake him, he just stood and looked. And Gavin knew that look, on Nine and on himself, like there were so many questions you couldn’t even begin to speak them aloud.

Neither of them said a word. Nine turned to walk towards the pond, his feet crunching on the pebbles. Everything else seemed still and silent. Next to Gavin’s things he paused, then turned, his eyes fixed on Gavin’s alone, and then, Nine raised his hands to his throat and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Gavin’s mouth was dry as fuck all of a sudden. He wanted to turn away, to give Nine some sense of privacy for some reason, but he felt as though looking away now would be some kind of confession, some kind of admission that he couldn’t bring himself to look at Nine’s body. Buried, way deep down under the shame and the fear, was curiosity, thrumming underneath it all, so strong it was like a hook digging deep into his body, sharp and pulling him further and further. Gavin took a long, long sip of whiskey. He wasn’t doing anything. He was only looking. Watching to make sure Nine didn’t try anything funny.

There was nothing funny about watching Nine undress. Gavin had seen him in all types of states, but there was something about this, how deliberate it was, the way his fingers drew down each button of his shirt, one a time, revealing the expanse of pale skin underneath, before letting his shirt hang loose and open at his chest. The way he paused, then, breaking his eye contact with Gavin before reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt. He slid his pants down around his slim thighs, stepping out of them as they pooled down at his feet. He shrugged off his shirt, stained with mud and food and what Gavin was pretty sure was Lou’s blood. His ribs were barely visible under his skin, but so were the muscles of his hips and stomach, covered with just a light layer of dark hair that tapered down between his legs. Gavin could barely breathe. 

And then, completely naked, Nine bent down and folded his clothes, his pants and his shirt, leaving them neatly by the side of the pond. As dignified as ever. He wasn’t looking at Gavin anymore, but Gavin was looking at him, as Nine turned around and walked into the water. There was nowhere for him to escape to; the pond was encircled by the small, rocky cliff that arched up above them, and where the water flowed away down the hill was too narrow and shallow for Nine to easily swim out of. The moonlight made everything glow, reflecting off the water’s surface, catching in the mist of the waterfall.

Nine waded into the pond up to his waist, and then just stood there for a very long time with his back to Gavin, his palms resting just on the surface of the water. Gavin studied him, all the long, pale scars across his lean body, made thinner by the lack of food and long hours walking the trail, still obviously strong and solid. The carved out, tense muscles of his back and thighs. The bruises and freckles and persistent blush of sunburn. It all looked elegant, almost, somehow. Everything about him was. Somehow.

Eventually Nine sunk down under the surface of the water, and Gavin gripped onto the rope with a sweaty hand, but Nine surfaced after a moment, pushing his hair out of his face. He turned around in the water, just his head visible sticking out, bobbing like a fishing lure.

“The water is very cold,” Nine reported.

“Fantastic, enjoy yourself,” Gavin muttered weakly, almost a laugh, because this wasn’t that strange, really, he was sure other bounty hunters did this. He settled by his pack with his whiskey between his legs, and as he rolled another cigarette, saw his bar of soap laying in the dirt. “Hey dumbass, you might actually want this.”

Gavin tossed the soap in Nine’s direction, and Nine caught it easily, of course. Gavin glowered into his cigarette, keeping his eye on Nine through the cloud of smoke. Nine stayed mostly submerged in the water, like he couldn’t get enough of it, but he washed himself, a mountain of bubbles collecting around him, before they were carried away down the stream, swollen by the storms they had passed through up north. He looked calm, at ease despite everything, as the dirt and blood melted off of him, revealing the skin beneath. Gavin watched everything.

”Might as well wash these too,” Gavin eventually grunted, once it seemed like Nine was done. He threw Nine’s clothes into the water, watching them briefly spin on its surface until Nine plucked them out. He looked at Gavin oddly, again, that puzzled, curious look, a slight frown on his face. But he washed his clothes all the same. 

Gavin wasn’t sure how long it continued, but he watched Nine’s every movement. Nine rinsed his things, laid them out next to the pond to dry, and then swam to the side of the pond, stretching the limits of the rope tied around his neck. He leaned up against a rock, the current swirling gently around him, just the sound of the waterfall droning down, and the frogs and crickets crying on the cliff.

“If it’s so cold, why are you still in there,” Gavin said, having moved onto his third cigarette. He had taken off his boots and socks and had his toes sunk into the pebbles on the side of the pond, some of the knots in his stomach softened by the water and the whiskey.

“This is the best I have felt in months,” Nine said with his eyes closed. “Being in the water is very calming. You should try it, Reed.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gavin muttered as he smoked. “I am calm.”

Nine’s hair dried into a wavy mess that he continuously tracked his hands through, trying to tame it, Gavin supposed. His beard trailed dark and growing across his jaw and down his neck. The top of his shoulders, his collarbone, and his arms, all exposed above the surface of the water. He did look at ease, comfortable almost, relaxing in the pond. Gavin looked away, up at the moon, finding himself almost unable to think.

“Aren’t you fucking afraid?” Gavin asked him, the words coming out before he even realized what he was saying, something he didn’t understand, something he had to know. He trained his eyes back on Nine, and Nine was looking back.

“Afraid? To what, Reed? To die?” Nine said it with an almost astonished tone to his voice, like he couldn’t believe what Gavin was suggesting, but of course he understood, he always seemed to. “Of course I am.”

It wasn’t the answer Gavin had expected at all, and maybe Nine took his stunned silence as an invitation to keep going, because he continued, “I used to want to die, after Connor did. I used to hope that it would happen. But as I told you, the idea has lost its appeal.”

“I imagine being faced with the actual prospect of it is a little sobering,” Gavin said. He drank again, feeling uncertain, uneasy. He shouldn’t be doing this - any of this - but it was far too late. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead, how this would feel, to sit here with Nine, and the feeling pressed down on him like the waterfall was beating him down into the rocks.

Gavin turned the bottle in his hands, feeling Nine’s eyes on him.

“I believe my feelings changed when you began tracking me,” Nine said, and Gavin instantly sat up. Nine didn’t move from his place in the pond. “I couldn’t let _you_ catch me, after all.”

“Fuck you,” Gavin snapped, feeling a surge of annoyance, and what made it worse was Nine’s sudden frown, the way he shifted against the rocks behind him, staring at Gavin. “I’m the only one who got this far, isn’t that true? In the grand scheme of things, we ain’t too far from Plainview and the end of this whole fucking mess. So you best keep contemplating your own demise.”

“It is strange,” Nine said, his face instantly hard and cold out of absolutely fucking nowhere, “each time I attempt to do so, you seem intent on interrupting me with some display of _humanity.”_ He said it like it was a dirty word, almost, like this was all something to be ashamed of, and that was all it took to push Gavin just over the edge, leaning forward as he spoke to Nine.

“Get out of the water,” Gavin said.

Nine’s eyes were narrowed, his posture tight and tense. Gavin wrapped his hand in the rope, pulling it taut between them. Nine still didn’t move.

“Nine,” Gavin said in a low voice, strained to its absolute limits. “I am getting really fucking tired of you.”

Nine did move, then, swimming closer to the side of the pond near Gavin, rising from the water dripping carelessly. Gavin was sure, for the briefest frozen moment, that Nine was coming right for him, and his hand flexed instinctively to his gun, but Nine just looked at him coldly, disdainfully and grabbed his clothes. This time, Gavin turned away as Nine dressed himself, only turning back once Nine walked back over to the pine tree and settled back against it defiantly. Everything he did seemed to be tailored to bury deep under his skin, to rile up some reaction from him, and Gavin was falling for it, but he didn’t even give a shit.

Neither of them said anything. Gavin tied up Nine again, his clothes soaked half dried, Gavin’s hands stiff as he avoided brushing against Nine, and then he retreated to his tent and drank until he was sure he would entirely forget the sight of Nine’s body. His hands unbuttoning his shirt, folding his clothes, wading into the pond, and then coming out of it, looking like he was ready to kill Gavin with his bare hands. Those hands -

Gavin dreamed about him anyway.

 

~

 

It was a cool, dewy morning, and a thin mist hung over the pond and rose up from the waterfall. Gavin watched the sun rise up and over the top of the hill, laying on his stomach in his tent. He couldn’t bring himself to come out yet. He felt ashamed of himself. He hadn’t felt this way in… he didn’t even know how long anymore. 

And it was strange, because when they talked, even when they were going back and forth in this endless pissing contest, Gavin felt entirely _un-_ ashamed, like he could easily spend hours or longer doing just that, like it was easy, like it was - calming, almost. Tension grown and released, keeping Gavin alert but humming along. He had felt his best in those days they were tracking Lou together, and even the days after, when Nine told him about his family and taught him about the fire. It had been soul-satisfying in a way Gavin found he could only access when he was with Nine. How fucking insane was that.

He had to back off, but more importantly, he had to get fucking laid. Sneaking off to silently lean against a tree and jerk off into the leaves wasn’t exactly doing it for him anymore. And he would never lay a hand on Nine, or anyone else he captured. So he had to find someone else, somewhere else. Gavin was used to fucking strangers, either for a favor or a place to stay that night or out of just pure desire. Pulling it off with Nine around would be… difficult.

And then, of course, Gavin was thinking about it, about getting pushed into his blankets by some dark-haired stranger, taking him, fucking Gavin slow and hard while Nine watched from the pine tree, unable to move. Gavin had a hand on himself in seconds, surprised at the intensity of his arousal, his teeth gritted and an elbow over his face to catch his little gasps, and it was only a minute until his body stiffened and he was coming all over himself. He muffled a disbelieving groan into the crook of his arm, breathing deep and uneven, trying to relax his nerves and failing. 

This was so fucking crazy. Gavin was losing his god damn mind. It had to be Nine. There was just something about him, maybe that he was so untouchable, so far outside of the realm of anyone Gavin had ever met, or spent so much time alongside - let alone someone he had ever gone to bed with. He had to know, how he looked, the effect he had. He was probably just as used to fucking strangers as Gavin was, and he probably had an even easier time of it, too. Gavin knew he could look rough, years of sun and stress taking their toll, along with the scar across his face that signaled some type of ugly altercation, and the chance it might happen again. But Nine was more composed, even in the state he had been in. Tall, strong from years on the road, still young but hardened by his past and his future, quick witted, almost fearless. Gavin thought about him rising from the water. Nine could easily have whoever he wanted. 

Gavin shook that particular thought away as he cleaned himself up and shuffled out of his tent. Nine was awake, of course, but he didn’t say anything at all to Gavin, and Gavin didn’t say anything either. The tension of not only the previous night, but all their days together, hung down over their camp like the fog trailing from over the pond. Gavin couldn’t wave it away as easily, though.

He forced down a cup of cold coffee and then stripped and waded into the pond to wash himself. He had no real qualms about being naked in front of anybody, not even Nine, especially not Nine. They had seen each other in all kinds of different states, pissing, shitting, Gavin vomiting off the side of his horse because he drank too much, Nine caked in mud from head to toe, and everything else in between. Gavin had bathed in front of Nine before. It wasn’t strange.

It felt strange doing it in the same place that Nine had just been, though, and Gavin found himself hurrying through the motions, hiding his body, rinsing himself, and then emerging from the water to dry himself and redress quickly. He avoided looking at Nine, positively feeling the discomfort and the silence, until he was fully clothed again and began breaking down their camp. He finally looked at Nine, unable to avoid it any longer, and Nine was watching him, but he looked away as soon as Gavin caught his eye. Gavin couldn’t read the expression on his face at all.

 

~

 

It took almost a week, but one night as they crested over the edge of another hill, Gavin could see a campfire off in the distance. Only the very vaguest echo of sound came from that far away, but in the open air Gavin could hear it, low voices, a harmonica. It was too dark to see anything else, but Gavin didn’t care. There were people nearby. Maybe nobody Gavin would want, or nobody who would want him. But it was a start. 

Gavin found himself unable to sleep, keyed up with all the usual anxiety he felt when he did some spur of the moment shit like this, on top of the new, thrumming dread that was the constant silence between the two of them. He knew what Nine was going to say, if he said anything at all; that Gavin was acting like an idiot, putting themselves at risk again, the same old schpiel he always went into. Gavin usually agreed, but he would do it anyway.

At dawn, it seemed reasonable to get traveling, so Gavin emerged from his tent. He expected Nine to still be asleep; he usually was, if Gavin happened to wake up at this time. But he was awake. He looked like hadn’t slept at all, actually, maybe in days now.

It had been practically silent between them since they left the waterfall. Things seemed to be degrading in stages. He wondered how long it would be until Nine snapped.

It didn’t take long, in all honesty. Once Gavin got them back on the trail - this time, veering slightly northeast, enough to be noticeably off course - Nine grew tense and still in his saddle. Gavin hadn’t thought it would be possible for things to become more uncomfortable, but they did, and Gavin quickly found this was just the beginning.

“We are no longer on the trail south,” Nine finally said, his voice sharp as a knife. “Why are we going north?”

“Saw a campfire couple of miles thataways,” Gavin muttered, knowing Nine had seen it too. He shifted in his saddle, avoiding the feel of Nine’s eyes on his back.

“Why is that relevant?” 

“Because that’s where we’re going,” Gavin snapped.

“What for?” Nine was entirely too petulant about this. Gavin clenched his teeth tight, trying to keep it together and entirely failing.

“So I can get some ass,” Gavin snapped. “I think I deserve it.”

Nine was oddly, palpably silent, and then he said, “That camp is probably full of old marshals.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Gavin said.

“Perkins is going to find us,” Nine said, impatient, frustrated, and Gavin felt a sick thrill at riling him up, pissing him off, getting some kind of reaction out of him after days of silence. But of course, Nine immediately got control over himself, speaking in a commanding, even voice, and that only served to feed Gavin’s boiling anger. “You risk our lives by refusing to take every precaution against being recognized. Instead you consistently seem to strive to draw attention to us.”

“You’re the one who wanted to hunt Lou down,” Gavin said incredulously. “That was all your fucking idea.”

“That was to help you. You are too impulsive. You don’t think things through. You brought me to the Bullpen knowing there may be others there,” Nine said, and with every word Gavin felt himself ready to lose his mind. “Perkins knows who I am, Reed. He’s following us. If he overtakes us - “

“I don’t know why you give a shit,” Gavin finally shouted. “Maybe Perkins _should_ take you off my hands. I wouldn’t even have to worry about this shit anymore. I don’t even care about the money, fuck, I don’t even care if I see you hang. So it sounds like we both come out on top here, don’t you fucking think? We dawdle with all those dirty old marshals until Perkins catches up to us, you get to ride in a fancy stagecoach all the way to Plainview, and I get a good fuck. I am _loving_ the god damn sound of that.”

“Fuck you,” Nine said.

It felt like Nine had spit hot coals into his face, and Gavin physically recoiled, gripping his rope, staring Nine down, his head spinning, feeling like the words were still hanging heavy in the air between them, like Gavin could reach out and take them back, if he wanted to. And Nine looked _awful,_ Gavin realized, with dark circles under his eyes, more disheveled than usual even though he had just bathed a few days before. Gavin had never seen him like that.

“You’re insane,” Gavin said, because he didn’t know else to describe it. Because he knew he looked the same way, and that was how he felt right now. Fucking insane.

Nine didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t argue or laugh. He didn’t even look at Gavin, just turned back towards the trail, his eyes sunken and narrowed over his red bandana. And Gavin thought, for the first time in a while, that he hated this man, and that the feeling was completely and entirely shared.

The woods grew thick and cool, the smell of the strangers’ campfire got stronger, and Gavin smoked a half dozen cigarettes all the way down to the bottom, until they burned his fingertips, until he couldn't feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two bros chillin by a waterfall five feet apart cuz they’re not gay 
> 
>  
> 
> [It Will Come Back - Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgWOJIC6Kp8)


	23. i will walk down to the end with you

Connor was still asleep when Hank woke up, which was unusual, but seemed to be a thing when they slept side by side. Hank felt well rested, for once, despite the ache behind his eyes and the shit feeling in his mouth. With a groan, he pulled himself up, patting Connor on the shoulder through the blankets, feeling like he had to make sure he was really there.

“Wake up kid,” he muttered.

Connor just made a _hmph_ sound and snuggled deeper into the blankets next to Sumo. Hank sighed and leaned forward, looking at Connor’s half-hidden face, his eyes closed, dark hair on the pillow, already asleep again. He actually looked comfortable. Hank couldn’t help the warmth in his chest, or the strong feeling he wanted to lay back down next to him. It was just good to see Connor like that. Hank tucked the blankets tighter around him and then, finally heaved himself out of the tent.

It was just before dawn. Hank made his way to the remains of the campfire and found it already stoked up, and Luther awake, rolling up his blankets.

“Have some coffee before you go,” Hank said in way of greeting. “Thanks. For the fire.”

“Don’t mention it. Coffee sounds like just the thing I need. Thank you, Hank.”

Luther wasn’t much for conversation before the coffee was ready, which Hank didn’t mind at all. He poured them each a cup and settled on one of the stools as the sun began to rise.

“You know, the journey is long, but it’s worth it to see the sunrise,” Luther said thoughtfully. “My home is in the middle of the woods so, not much of a view. But I’ll be glad to be getting back.”

Hank had to laugh at that. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He sipped his coffee. “Your wife must miss you,” Hank said, maybe because Luther was easy to talk to.

“She does,” Luther agreed. “We have a kid, too. Little girl. She keeps asking to come with me.” Hank felt that familiar ache in his chest, but Luther was smiling. “She’s not mine, actually. Might as well be though. Been through enough together.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “I know what you mean.”

There was a comfortable silence again as they sipped their coffee, the sky growing lighter. Hank felt at ease, despite Luther’s unfamiliarity. He was like Connor, or Rose; something about their presence was steadying. Hank felt as though he wanted to say something else, and it was strange, he almost felt like Luther did too, but instead they sat side by side until Luther finished his coffee, packed up the last of his things, and rose back to his cart. He gave them a couple of bottles of wine as a thanks, something Hank wasn’t about to refuse, but for some odd reason he felt like he should be sending Luther off with something too.

“Safe travels,” he said as Luther eased his horses forward.

“And you as well,” Luther said. Hank watched him disappear down the trail in the sunrise, leaving Hank alone with his thoughts once more.

 

~

 

Rose was the next to get up, though she looked uncharacteristically tired, a blanket thrown around her shoulders as she approached the campfire.

“You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” Hank said with a gruff laugh.

“Oh, piss off,” she said, which made him laugh harder. “Good conversation keeps you up late into the evening.”

“Indeed it does,” Hank agreed.

Rose collapsed onto one of the stools and Hank rose before she even asked. “Coffee,” he said, more of a fact than a question.

“God, yes,” she sighed. He poured her a cup and set about making a second pot, knowing the others would be up soon. She was quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the first few sips, and then she spoke again. “You been up long?”

“Long enough to see the good doctor off,” Hank said. He settled back on his own stool, watching the steam rise from his mug. It was a dewy, hazy morning, still cool from the evening air, but Hank didn’t mind the chill. He wrapped his hands around his cup. “Seemed like a good man.”

“He did,” Rose agreed.

She eyed Hank, then, like she was waiting for him to say something, and her pointed stare lasted for just long enough that Hank asked, “I got food on my face or somethin’?”

He expected her to maybe say something cheeky about Connor sleeping in his tent, or maybe something about Adam’s budding friendships with everyone, or maybe about how Hank seemed to be taking any opportunity to postpone their arrival to Tucson. Instead, Rose said, a little surprised, “He didn’t tell you?”

“What, about his kid?” Hank frowned at the expression on her face. “What?”

“He knew them,” Rose said, “the - passengers. Jericho. They figured it out last night.”

Hank blinked at her. “Excuse me? They try to rob him once or somethin’?”

“No, Hank,” Rose said, “I don’t think anyone would be dumb enough to do that.”

“That is true,” Hank conceded. He realized he was leaning forward, waiting. “Well, I’m all ears, what’s the story?”

“Luther worked in the Tucson County Jail,” Rose said, and Hank very nearly dropped his coffee. “He was a cook there when they escaped - said the dynamite blew out part of the prison, including the kitchen, and half the staff were out a job while they rebuilt it. He said the prison doctor hired him to transport his things east and...” She trailed off, noticing his expression. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank said, “the _dynamite?_ ”

“Yes, the dynamite. Don’t you get information about them before you start a job like this?”

“Sure do, I may have skimmed it,” Hank said dismissively. He sat back and whistled. “Well, I’ll be damned. How the hell did he go from prison cookin’ to... doctoring?”

”Doctor liked the way he worked, took him under his wing,” she said. “Introduced Luther to his daughter and the rest is history, as they say. He said if they hadn’t broken out, he’d probably still be slinging porridge for the poor inmates in Tucson.” She shook her head. “No wife, no child… strange, isn’t it? But I’ve always believed in little miracles.”

Hank didn’t have anything to say to that. His mind seemed to be spinning off course, wondering what would have happened if the Jericho gang had never escaped in the first place - or, if they had, but had never been taken back in, if they were still out there, robbing rich old men of everything they owned. North had explained their ways with no apology; they weren’t exactly doing the lord’s work, but in reality, Hank wasn’t sure anyone really was.

A stranger who just happened to cross their path, who just happened to have a life, a family, maybe only because these four kids escaped from a prison. And because they were going back there, he was sitting here at dawn with a cup of coffee in his hand and Connor asleep in his tent. The feeling sunk down through his chest, a heavy mix of guilt and gratitude and something else, something new. Little miracles, Hank thought. Maybe he believed in them too. Occasionally.

Hank expected Rose to say something else; she looked thoughtful, gazing into the fire for a few minutes before she sat back down, one eye on Hank and the other on the horizon. But whatever else she was thinking, she kept to herself.

Eventually Connor appeared, looking acutely miserable. Hank had to chuckle at Connor’s sad expression as he sank down by the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I will never drink another drop of alcohol,” Connor declared.

“Put a little whiskey in there,” Hank suggested, pointing at his cup. “It helps.”

Connor eyed him, but did it anyway. “I apologize if I acted out of turn,” he said. “I was quite drunk.”

“It was nice to see you so relaxed, Connor,” Rose said firmly. She stood up, leaving her blanket folded on the stool now that the sun was in the sky. “Let’s wake up the others. We should get moving.”

Hank was infinitely glad for her, then, for easy she managed to make it all seem, how she just nodded at Hank as she began bustling about, the beginnings of what could have been a cataclysmic conversation left to flutter away. Connor sipped his coffee and warmed his hands over the fire, then turned to Hank, a private little smile on his face.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hey stranger,” Hank said. “Not used to you sleeping so late.”

“I didn’t want to get up,” Connor said with a little shrug. “Your tent is much nicer than mine.”

Hank scoffed. “They’re almost the same damn tent,” he said fondly, standing and swallowing the last dregs of his coffee. “It is easier to sleep with you there,” Hank added, looking up into the sky, squinting. “Dunno why.”

“I don’t either,” Connor said. Hank met his eyes, and he was smiling again.

“You two got somethin’ to talk about, or can we take them out?” Rose called out from the side of the wagon, her hand already on the lock. She raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Hank waved his hand, unable to look away from Connor all of a sudden, struck by how he looked in the sunlight, tired but smiling, all the things Hank wanted and needed to say, the things that had been brought into the air last night, but couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud. “Eh, go ahead. We’ll break down the rest of the camp.”

They had a quick breakfast, finishing the last of the stew from the night before, Connor shaved his face as everyone else washed up, and then they eventually lumbered back onto the trail, another warm, sunny day. Hank handed the reins over to Simon, his leg stretched out next to him, and gave Markus the rest of the bench, electing to ride Daisy instead. Connor took one of the other horses, and Hank enjoyed the familiar ride in Daisy’s saddle, the way she huffed pleasantly when he scratched her neck.

Markus and the others excitedly recounted the events in Tucson for Connor and Hank’s benefit, and Hank could practically see it happening; Markus and North locked up inside the jail, Simon and Josh outside, tricking their way through the building until they blew out the whole northeast section, freeing half the prisoners and, apparently, a decent amount of the staff. They finished each other’s sentences, filling in the blank spaces of each other’s memory, and Hank found himself laughing along with them, and found himself listening as North spoke solemnly of the men she killed, and what came after, the dynamite and the smoke and the escape. They had all heard bits of pieces of it, before, but hearing it all at once, spun out in the empty space on the trail ahead, it made Hank understand, more than he had before.

Sumo bounded off in front of the oxen, as usual, and they continued on, towards the river and the trading post beyond it.

 

~

 

It took another week to get to Springfield. They made terrible time, dawdling as they meandered up the trail. They all knew it, but nobody ever really said it out loud, except for those moments they ribbed each other for loitering around the campfire. Hank found that they seemed to take longer and longer at breakfast, especially, and would often look for a campsite early, leaving just a few hours of traveling time. As it was, Hank didn’t mind the pace at all, but there were other things he was considering, now.

The weather was one. August was plodding along and considering how things had been going, they wouldn’t leave Springfield for at least a couple of days, once they got there. And once they did, they still had a couple of months of travel to get to Tucson. Coming through the south wouldn’t be too bad, as long as it didn’t snow. Sometimes it came down in a big pile all at once. They’d be stuck again. He supposed that was fine, as long as they had good shelter.

The Chapmans would have a harder time of it, getting up north. The right wagon could get you through. This wagon, for example. It was built to withstand all kinds of weather in their journey west.

It could probably easily go all the way up to Canada, if it needed to.

Not that it needed to.

Hank counted his money, one morning as Connor and Adam took the gang to a nearby creek to wash up. He had already gotten paid at the start of the journey, and the rest of the sum would be given to him when they arrived in Tucson, but this was already a decent amount. More than Hank could hope to spend in one trip. Connor had been paid similarly, Hank suspected, though probably less than Hank himself had, just based on experience. Still, they had hunted and fished and foraged for most of their supplies, and Hank had more than enough money to spare, to get themselves well-situated again. He wondered, if it would be reasonable to give the Chapmans some money, help them get back on their feet. If that was something they even wanted, or needed. He pushed that thought to the side, vowing to ask them, before they all parted ways.

Hank had more savings, locked up in Jeffrey’s safe back in Covington, along with his last will and testament. There wasn’t much to report on; he left Sumo and all of his earthly possessions to Fowler, and that was that. If he did die, he wondered how long it would take Jeffrey, to sort through Hank’s things, to clear out the stable house.

If he died. If he didn’t come back. It would be unfortunate, but it was always a possibility, and Fowler understood that. He probably expected Hank to be a few weeks or even months behind schedule, but what would he think if Hank just never came back at all? If he really did just go on to California, or to Shamrock, or some nameless town. Hell, Fowler had practically told him to do just that. But he certainly expected Hank to return, eventually, didn’t he? Hank himself expected to return. He always made it home.

Eventually.

The problem was that Connor had slept in Hank’s tent every single night once they got back on the trail, and that was starting to feel more like a home than the stable house ever did.

 

~

 

Way, way off in the afternoon distance, across the plains, across the hills, Hank could see the unmistakable curve of the river cutting across the landscape, and beyond it, a dark smudge of civilization - Springfield.

Even closer to them was something else on the side of the trail, a thicket of bushes close to a small creek, and as they drew up nearer to it, Connor practically somersaulted out of his saddle.

“Connor, what the hell are you doing,” Hank shouted.

“Raspberries,” he called out over his shoulder, Sumo trailing after him, barking exuberantly.

Hank figured he should probably tell Connor to get back on his horse. They still had plenty of miles to travel. Instead, he tipped his hat over his face. “Alright, you heard the man. Let’s pull on over.”

Simon was on the front of the wagon again today, and he complied, coaxing the oxen off to the side. Hank turned in his saddle and saw Rose and North riding close to each other, laughing. “And what’s got you two so amused?”

“Oh, nothing at all, pops,” North said innocently. “Nothing at all.”

Hank thought about telling her not to call him that, but the moment quickly passed, and in the end, he didn’t correct her. 

 

~

 

They ate as many raspberries as they could handle, and then picked almost all of the rest, filling up a basket until it was near-overflowing. The afternoon sun made everyone lazy, and they collapsed in the short grass next to the bushes, working through the rest of the berries until Hank was sure he was going to explode.

“Good eyes, kid,” Hank grunted out as he passed his bottle of whiskey around.

“They weren’t as good as those blackberries we had by the river,” Connor said. He was laying on his back close to Hank, close enough to scoot his foot over and knock it into Hank’s. “What do you think?”

“Nah, of course not,” Hank agreed. “Close enough, though.”

“Yes,” Connor said. His face was a little pink in the sun. He pulled his hat over his face - Hank’s hat, actually. He had been wearing it for weeks now. He tipped his foot back towards Hank’s, but he didn’t pull it away this time, just kept the tips of their boots pressed together. “Close enough.”

 

~

 

Predictably, they ended up camping there for the night, but nobody complained about the loss of an afternoon’s worth of traveling. Everyone fell about their usual routine, and then they sat around the fire as Connor and Adam cooked, Rose relaxed next to North, and Markus picked at Rose’s banjo again, a thoughtful expression on his face. Simon and Josh were involved in a very intense conversation centered around teaching Sumo how to sit on his back legs, which Hank knew was a lost cause, but Sumo would happily accept the bits of beef jerky they were giving him as encouragement.

They broke out the bottles of wine that Luther had gifted to them, and the hot, tart taste of the dark wine was a welcome change from whiskey. Connor was reneging on his promise to never drink again, and once everyone had finished eating, he settled next to Hank by the campfire with a full cup.

Ever since he had started sleeping in Hank’s tent, Connor had been acting… odd. He had always been odd, Hank had to admit, but this was something else. He seemed calmer, more centered and confident, but he also seemed nervous in a new and different way, and he was constantly fidgeting, to the point that he even asked Markus for the banjo, and he plucked at it terribly for a few minutes until North told him to cut it out. He sought out Hank more too, now - whether it was to lean against him, sit near enough to bump their knees together, or sometimes he would reach out and squeeze Hank’s hand when he laughed, though he always let it go right away. Connor had dropped his guard around everyone else, including Rose and Adam, but he only acted like _this_ with Hank, and he only ever slept in Hank’s tent, though reasonably he could get just as warm in the wagon or curled up next to the fire.

Hank didn’t mind, in fact, he liked knowing Connor trusted him, maybe a little too much. All the tension and pain and confusion from before had melted away into the August heat. Hank had seen what Connor was capable of, the depths he would go to for others, the fear that he had about getting too close. So whenever Connor reached for his hand, Hank tried to hold it there for a second, reassuring him. We’re here.

Maybe it was all the raspberries, or the wine, or that they had begun drinking barely past three in the afternoon, but the others dropped off fairly quickly, snoring around the fire. Hank, somehow, wasn’t tired, and Connor didn’t seem to be either.

“Guess you ain’t ever laid a hand on a banjo before,” Hank said as he refilled both their cups and rejoined Connor on his stool next to the fire.

“I’m a fast learner,” Connor said defensively. “I bet you can’t play either.”

“You got me there,” Hank said. “Never learned much of anything. I could probably pound on a drum pretty good.”

“I never did either,” Connor said. “My mother saw no use in things like that.” He quickly took a sip of wine, and Hank eyed him, wondering what he wasn’t saying.

“What did she see use in?” he asked. It wasn’t often Connor talked about his family, and especially not his mother. It had been weeks and weeks since he had even mentioned her. Hank wondered what she was like, if she was anything like his own mother, or like Cheryl had been.

Connor seemed to be thinking, rolling over Hank’s words, and then he took another small sip and settled his elbows on his knees. “Coin tricks, card tricks. You could make a quick penny as a child, entertaining old women on the street.”

“A young entrepreneur,” Hank said with a laugh. “You remember any of ‘em?”

“Sure,” Connor said, a mischievous smile on his face, much better and brighter than before. “Wait here.”

He made his way over to the wagon, disappearing inside it for a minute, and then returned to swoop back into the stool next to Hank, turning a silver coin around in his hand.

“You’ve never seen somebody do this?” Connor asked, drawing Hank’s attention to his face. It was arresting how utterly handsome he was, even when he was being a devious little shit.

“Nobody like you,” Hank teased, and Connor’s smug smile only widened, his cheeks flushed, and at one second he was spinning the coin between the fingers of his left hand, and the next he was leaning in close, his right hand brushing against Hank’s beard, then behind his ear, and suddenly Connor was holding the coin between his right index and middle fingers next to Hank’s face, like he had just produced it out of thin air.

He was looking up at Hank through his long, dark eyelashes, his smile fading slightly, softening into something else, the same look he had back on the porch of that shot-up abandoned cabin, when Connor had said those same words and Hank had very nearly closed the distance between them and done something entirely insane. He has the same feeling now, but this time Hank reached up and wrapped his palm around Connor’s wrist, his rough hand loose around Connor’s skin as Hank drew his hand closer in between them.

Connor’s eyes were almost black in the firelight as he focused on Hank. Their knees were pressed together. Hank could feel Connor’s breath on his face. He plucked the coin from between Connor’s fingers with his free hand, watching Connor’s fingers curl into a loose fist, and then suddenly, as if struck by lightning, Connor leapt to his feet.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” Connor said. He sounded uncertain, but he stepped away all the same, so quickly it practically knocked all the breath out of Hank, and over his shoulder he said, “We should set out early tomorrow.”

“Sure, kid,” Hank said after him, still holding the coin in his palm. He tucked it into his pocket. A very intense feeling buzzed and burned all over him, like he should get up and follow after Connor and ask him what the hell he was thinking about. Instead, he watched him disappear around the side of the wagon, to where their tents were, and only then did he realize that the entirety of the Jericho gang was laying around the fire, sound asleep.

Hank sighed, looking out over them. The temptation to just leave them there was so incredibly strong that Hank very nearly gave into it. But they would run off, of course, if they realized they could. They would get on the horses and just go. And Hank would turn the other way and return to Fowler empty-handed and Fowler would shrug and write it off and give Connor and Hank another job -

This wine was making him crazy.

“Alright, kiddos,” Hank called out. “Time to get some shut-eye.”

Everyone grumbled and stumbled their way into the wagon, and Rose and Adam moved into their tents, Sumo going along with Adam, leaving Hank to tamp down the fire and finally, make his way towards his tent. It was strange, but for the first time in many nights, Hank was sure Connor wouldn’t be there. They hadn’t talked about it, really - Connor just settled into the blankets each night, and sometimes Sumo slept between them, but mostly they slept side by side, Connor all tucked up next to him like he belonged there, and Connor’s tent remained empty, only his pack and a single lone blanket inside.

Hank let out a breath as he passed it. Empty again. Hank crawled into his own tent, feeling more than seeing Connor shift in the darkness under the wool blanket. He didn’t speak, just made room for Hank on the ground next to him.

“Hey, kid,” Hank said as he settled in, throwing an arm over Connor’s side as he got comfortable. “You alright?”

“No,” Connor said into his pillow. “Probably not even once in my entire life.”

Hank had to laugh, his face pressed into Connor’s shoulder, and he felt Connor relax next to him, leaning back. From there, it was easy to fall asleep.

 

~

 

The next morning the trail drifted up over a hill, and then just after noon, they saw it again - the river itself, stretching out ahead of them. The heavy current was obvious, even at this distance. And beyond it, the bustling trading post that was Springfield, Colorado, now more of a buzzing hive than a smudge.

“There she is,” North announced, though of course they all knew. “We could be there by sundown.”

“We have to cross the river first,” Connor said. There was a strange note to his voice, and Hank watched as Markus’s eyes narrowed, looking at him, and then at Hank. “Maybe we should camp here and make the trip in the morning.”

“Maybe,” Hank agreed. Markus and Rose both nodded, which cemented Hank’s decision. “Luther said the river man is shit. Let’s at least meet him for ourselves before we go any further.”

They followed the path down the other side of the hill, and after a mile or so their caravan rolled up to the little shack alongside the river. Just outside its door was a man slouched in a rocking chair with a sickly-sweet smelling opium pipe in his hand, and a bottle of moonshine at his feet. Hank frowned, looking at him. He looked terrible, and absolutely unfit to be trusted with a river crossing.

Hank loudly cleared his throat as they approached, calling out, “Good afternoon,” but there was no response.

“Is he dead?” Connor asked plainly.

“Hey, asshole,” Hank shouted, and that seemed to do the trick.

The man jumped in his chair, eyes shooting open, and then he slumped back with a long-suffering groan, rubbing at his forehead. “No need for the noise, I’m awake,” he grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet. He was probably Hank’s age, much ruddier in the face, scowling deeply at their presence. Yeah, Hank thought, Luther was right.

“We’re here to pass through to Springfield,” Hank grunted. “You taking passengers?”

“Not anymore today,” the man said, scratching at his protruding belly. He reached down to pick up his moonshine, popping out the cork with a considering look. “You all crossing?”

“Yes,” Hank said. “And the wagon.”

“It’s gonna be a rough ride,” the man said. “River’s high as fuck.”

“Would it be safer to cross in a few days?” Connor asked.

“No, worse probably, just gonna keep rising. It’s been storming up north,” the man said, eyeing him. “Gonna cost you, if you camp on my property.”

“Where exactly does your property end?” Connor asked, almost innocently, but Hank cleared his throat. As tempting as it was, they probably shouldn’t piss off the man who was going to transport them across the river.

“We’ll pay,” Hank said, even though he didn’t want to. “And what’s the name of the gentleman who owns this property?”

“Williams,” the man said, swallowing down a sip of moonshine. “Todd Williams. You won’t be seeing much of me. We’ll cross at noon tomorrow. You can pay me now.”

Hank handled the transaction, trying not to react to the smell of smoke and booze and sweat on this man, so strong it even rattled Hank’s senses, and then Todd disappeared into his little shack, and Hank turned around to see that the others had done off to set up camp, but Connor was waiting for him.

“What an unfortunate man,” Connor said as Hank joined him in walking over to the wagon.

“Don’t laugh, Connor,” Hank said, reaching for his pipe, “but that could have easily been me.”

Connor smiled, but just a little bit, and knocked their shoulders together. “You are absolutely nothing like that man.”

“You always know how to lift an old man’s spirits, kid,” Hank said. “Now, I’m fuckin’ starving. Let’s get some grub going.”

“We have some dried fish left, still,” Connor said. “We could attempt to fish in the river, but I’m unsure if we’ll be successful… but we have plenty of vegetables, and some of those raspberries we picked… well, maybe there’s not many left.”

“Shit, what I wouldn’t give for those eggs you made,” Hank said. “Those were god damn fantastic.”

“I’ll make them again,” Connor said, “sometime, before the journey is over.”

“We got some time, still,” Hank said, and he gripped Connor’s shoulder, pulled him closer, and Connor put an arm around his waist just for a second, squeezed his side, then let go, smiling at the grass. Hank smiled too, glad the tension disappeared so easily between them now. “Come on, kid, before Rose drinks all the coffee.”

They followed the path the wagon and horses had cut through the wildflowers, and settled into their routine alongside everyone else, the river rushing nearby. Rose and Connor tended the fire; North and Adam put up the tents; Markus, Simon, and Josh hauled water from the river so they could start cooking. Hank felt like all his thoughts were knocking around in his head - most of them involving Connor, as usual. Everyone was in good spirits, until suddenly the camp was set up and Connor looked around and said to North and Adam, “Is my tent still in the wagon?”

They exchanged a glance, a crooked smile on North’s face. “Oh, I just don’t see the point in setting up a tent nobody’s gonna use. Do you, Connor?”

“No,” he said. “I suppose not.”

 

~

 

By sundown, they were full of food and drink, enjoying the breeze that came through the field from upstream. Hank felt relaxed, despite the obstacles they were about to face. Deep down, underneath everything, was the intense hum of nerves telling him to focus on the job, to get back on the trail, to get to Tucson and get this over with. But he was finding that easier and easier to ignore. Things had become so familiar and comfortable between all of them that Hank found it more and more tempting to just let them sleep out under the stars. In fact, Hank was becoming so complacent, he was sure he was going to forget to tie up their wrists one day, and that nobody would even notice, they would all just go about their business as usual. Sometimes - just for brief moments at a time - he forgot they were supposed to go to Tucson at all.

Still, they had to get back on the trail eventually, and only the river stood in their way.

“Y’all ready to get to Springfield?” Hank asked. He and North were passing the pipe back and forth. Adam was rebraiding her hair into two long pigtails.

“The river is high,” Markus said. He was sitting next to Simon, changing his bandage as Rose watched. “It will be a dangerous crossing.”

“I’ve done plenty of ‘em in way worse conditions than this,” Hank said. “We’ll get across, long as fuckin’ Todd doesn’t pass out halfway through the trip.”

“If he makes it that far,” North said with a smirk.

Connor suddenly stood and walked away, pacing out closer to the river with his backs to them, looking at the current with his arms crossed. Hank noticed, of course, because he noticed everything Connor did, but he also noticed the way Markus looked at North, almost accusingly, like she had pushed too far. But maybe she had, because it was like she had scraped at some reflexive part of Connor, forcing him away from them. Hank watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders drew closer to his neck, his posture stiff and uncomfortable. He was nervous.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Hank declared firmly.

“We will,” Rose agreed, then raised her voice slightly, calling out to Connor. “No use in worrying about it, honey.”

Connor turned around, as if he had just realized he was standing there, separated from them.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like water,” Connor said simply, turning back to face the river again. “I’m - not a very good swimmer.”

“I’m not either,” Simon said, quick to empathize. “Especially not with this leg. I think it’s reasonable to be anxious about the crossing.”

“It’s fucking reasonable, but if we die, we die,” North said.

“Dammit North, can’t you just relax,” Josh complained. His eyes moved from her to Connor. She puffed on the pipe with a pointed look.

“Just being realistic,” she said.

“We should be wary,” Markus agreed, soothing things over. “But I am sure we will be safe, Connor.” He patted the side of Simon’s leg, then shifted so he could lay down on the blanket with his head in Simon’s lap. They had became far more physically affectionate since that night at the cabin - like they didn’t want to waste any more time, like they didn’t want to miss any more chances.

“Well Markus, I think you missed your calling,” Rose said. “You would make a damn fine doctor.”

“Luther said the same,” Markus said with a small, humble smile.

“I recall Carl saying that too, actually,” North said. Adam finished her second pigtail and then flopped down by the fire next to her. Sumo promptly jumped on top of him.

“Whereabouts does Carl live again?” Hank asked, and Connor turned, then, pulled from the spell of the river, and looked at Hank like he knew exactly what he was thinking, which, in all honesty, he probably did.

“Kansas,” Markus said. “Outside Blue Rapids. There’s isn’t much of anything there, except his estate.”

It was a month’s ride by horse from where they were, though it would be longer with the wagon - but that wasn’t possible, as much as Hank disliked the idea of a father and son being separated, probably forever, it wasn’t possible.

“Haven’t been there in years now,” Markus continued, and it was so rare to hear him speak about his past, even Connor came back and set down next to Hank, listening. “Though I’m sure it hasn’t changed. Probably only grown gaudier and more full of priceless Grecian sculptures.”

“He must be a wealthy man,” Hank said, and there was a question there that Markus had to understand. Wealthy men were usually unbothered by law enforcement - and if Markus had grown up amongst price Grecian sculptures, what the hell was he doing on his way back to the Tucson County Jail?

“The wealthiest in the midwest, so they say,” Markus said. “Though the Manfred name fell out of favor in recent years, Carl’s reputation is still intact, at least.”

Hank knew of Manfred, and yes, he was a _very_ wealthy man, an artist and painter, investor in antiques and real estate. This was the Carl that Markus had spoken of, the chain-smoking, good-hearted old man that had raised him. It was unexpected information, information Hank knew for god damned sure was not in Jeffrey’s report. Hank gestured for North to hand back his pipe, and she reluctantly did so.

“I take it he wasn’t too keen on your choice of career,” Hank said after a thoughtful minute.

“He wasn’t keen on Leo’s either,” Simon said, and as if by reflex, North and Josh both spit on the ground.

“Sorry,” Josh said, though if it was to everyone or just Markus, Hank wasn’t sure. “Force of habit."

“You know how embarrassing it is to get caught by the _worst_ ranger this side of the Mississippi?” North said, rocking back on her heels like she was about to burst. “Everything that came after was fucking terrible too, but god, just knowing it was him - Anderson’s bounties never had to feel that way, I bet. It’s practically an _honor_ getting taken in by a former marshal.”

North’s strange compliment floated past him as Hank could hear Jeffrey speaking, discussing the gang with Hank and Connor before they left out for Newport, before their journey even really began. Hank could remember it clearly, the few details Jeffrey had spoken about.

_The ranger who found them was pretty familiar with one of them, the leader._

“Carl’s son took you in,” Hank said, incredulously, but it wasn’t a question.

_He had them all strip and walk to the next town. He beat on them pretty hard._

“Trust me, he had wanted Markus for a long time,” North said. “He _reveled_ in it.”

“They were cruel to us, out there,” Josh said. “Nothing like this.”

_Depending on how you look at it, it’s either lucky or unlucky he didn’t shoot them right away._

“No,” Markus said. “Nothing like this.”

“Jesus,” Hank said, spitting it out like a rotten piece of fruit. “What a fucking prick.”

“He was troubled,” Markus said. “He never accepted me. He drove me from the house… drove me west… I would have never met any of you, if it wasn’t for him. And yet, that doesn’t make it any easier to forgive him.”

Hank realized Connor was gripping his hand.

Markus was looking at them.

“Some people deserve it, some don’t,” he said, then he smiled, a surprising laugh emerging from him as he said, “You know, the first time I met Simon, he was trying to rob me?”

“I was attempting to share resources,” Simon said primly, and just like that they were laughing again, talking about their early days together, and Hank eventually felt Connor’s hand slip away, falling to his lap as he listened, still seemingly deep in thought.

Rose caught Hank’s eye over the fire, but Hank had to look to the sky instead, returning to his whiskey.

 

~

 

Hank actually dozed off next to the fire, and when he woke up with a start, Connor had a hand on his shoulder, up close to his neck.

“You should get some rest, Hank,” Connor said quietly. “Tomorrow may be difficult.”

“Then you should be gettin’ some rest too,” Hank muttered with a yawn. “Alright, I’m comin’.”

Hank saw that someone, either Connor or Rose, had put the gang to rest in the wagon, and the campsite was mostly cleaned up. Hank washed up, then tidied the last of their things, feeling the comfort of their camp, familiar no matter where they were. Adam was snoring in his tent, and Rose was reading by the fire - Connor’s copy of Swiss Family Robinson, Hank saw with a funny little twist in his chest. But Hank could see his own tent was empty, and that Connor was standing out by the river again, further away this time, staring over the water under the stars.

Earlier, in the sun, there had been bees everywhere, buzzing and flitting around them in the flowers, transporting Hank to another river, further back on the trail. Hank wondered if they would ever go there again, and then he grabbed a couple of blankets and traipsed across the field, towards Connor.

 

~

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hank said dryly as he approached. He reached into his pocket and tossed the coin to Connor, who caught it easily. Hank had kept it in his pocket since Connor had taken it out, occasionally rolling it between his fingers absentmindedly, and now Connor did the same, looking back over the river as Hank stepped next to him.

“You should keep this,” Connor said, then, and pressed it into Hank’s palm, drawing his hand away quickly, like he had been burned. Hank tucked it back in his pocket. “I don’t have much worth sharing right now.”

Hank didn’t press him, just handed him one of the blankets. “Little chilly over here, eh?”

Connor hesitated, then threw the blanket around his shoulders, tucking his arms over his chest snugly. “It will be winter before we know it,” he said.

“It will,” Hank agreed, his own blanket wrapped around his body. He stepped closer to Connor, bumped their shoulders together, but didn’t say anything else, just enjoyed the peace of the river and the wind, and Connor’s steadfast presence, until he finally spoke again.

“You told me it was going to get easier,” Connor said. He didn’t sound accusing or resentful, just matter of fact, as usual.

“Yeah, well,” Hank drew his arms over his chest. “Things were a little simpler when I told you that.”

Connor hummed consideringly. “They certainly were.”

“I imagine they’ll be become more complicated after we get over this river,” Hank continued, glancing at Connor out of the corner of his eye, and he saw Connor’s posture stiffen, drawing his blanket closer around his shoulders. “You really don’t wanna cross, do you, kid?”

“No,” Connor said, leaning against him. “But you’ll be with me so, I will.”

Hank leaned against him too, both their arms crossed over their chests, just balancing there side by side in the field. Connor was tall, but Hank still had a couple of inches on him, and Connor was just the right height to rest his head on Hank’s shoulder.

There was no fighting it, and Hank wasn’t even sure he wanted to, or that he even _had_ been fighting it at all. It felt more like he had been watering this, nurturing this strange little connection he had with Connor, a man so different from himself who had somehow managed to get Hank to wake up and appreciate the little things, little miracles - fresh coffee, honeybees, a stupid coin trick. Sleeping next to somebody while your dog slobbers all over you. Hank remembered all these small moments in stark relief, but all mixed up together it felt like they had created something precious, something Hank wanted to protect. Hank cared for Connor, so deeply it was frightening at times, but it was also just about the best thing that had happened to him in years. It felt like coming home.

Hank had loved before, more than once in the half-century he was scratched out in the world, but he hadn’t wanted anything like _this_ before, not really. He had never wanted to throw away everything and leave it behind and start over before with someone, he had never felt like it was truly possible after all this time, and yet somehow that was how he felt, standing there looking at the river with Connor.

“What if we didn’t go?” Hank said, then, before he could talk himself out of it.

Connor lifted his head, blinking at him. “To Springfield?”

“Maybe,” Hank said. “Maybe anywhere.”

Connor frowned, speaking slowly, like he wasn’t sure what Hank was talking about. “You want to just stay here with Todd? I don’t think he will make a very good landlord.”

“No, kid,” Hank said, unable to stop his laugh, and glad for it. It made it easier to say what came next. “Tucson.”

The silence was deafening.

“What if we didn’t go to Tucson,” Connor repeated, watching him with dark eyes.

“What if we didn’t make it there,” Hank continued, “what if we didn’t make it across - what if the wagon sunk all the way down to the bottom with all of us inside. Our poor souls, lost to the river.”

Connor reached for his hand and Hank let him take it, held on just as tightly. Hank continued on, looking at him, “It might take a year before anybody sends a search party. They might not even do that. Fowler’d probably just write us off. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened to somebody. Nobody would miss me much, I know that. You could look for your brother and I could…” He left it unsaid, unfinished, waiting, and Connor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked at Hank again.

“Hank,” Connor said, “you can’t tell me you’re really thinking about this.”

“You can’t tell me that you’re not,” Hank said.

“I can’t lie to you,” Connor said, and he looked desperate, suddenly, scared and uncomfortable in a way Hank hadn’t seen in a while, “I have. But Hank, the law - the contract - “

“Oh, who gives a fuck about the contract kid, we’ve already broken just about every rule on that shitty piece of paper,” Hank said.

“I give a fuck,” Connor said hotly. He pulled away, then, letting go of Hank’s head, and walked towards the river, putting his back to Hank as he stared off into the water.

“You said you were scared to see them die,” Hank said. “I am too. I don’t want to be responsible for that anymore. I’d rather turn around and take whatever ass-whooping Jeffrey gives me. It’s not worth it anymore for me, kid.”

“You want to go back to Covington,” Connor said, his back still to Hank. His voice sounded dead, almost, completely resigned, and Hank wanted to cross the distance between them and shake him, make him understand, make him speak all the thoughts in his mind, but he didn’t move.

“Not in the slightest, but I’ll go where you go,” Hank said. “If you’ll have me.”

Connor turned around, finally, and he looked absolutely heartbroken, all of a sudden, his face drawn, shoulders hunched in defeat. “We couldn’t travel together anymore, Hank. Not if we did - this. We would have to say goodbye.”

Hank stared at him, the words cold and sharp in his chest. “Connor, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? Of course we could. ”

“No,” Connor said. It looked like it hurt him to even say it. “We couldn’t.”

“Why?” Hank demanded. He wanted desperately to cross the few feet of distance between them, but took a deep breath and stayed put, waiting. “You can say it all you want but it doesn’t make a lick of sense and I’m not fucking saying goodbye to you without a real good god damn reason.”

“Because it’s not _safe,_ ” Connor said. “Because you’ll spend the rest of your life looking back over your shoulder wondering if someone recognizes you over what you did and being with me will make it so much harder. Because - “ He was almost pleading now, “because you won’t like my brother and being around him reminds me of who I was and - you wouldn’t like the person that I was.”

“Connor,” Hank said, watching his last little bit of patience flutter away down the river, “I don’t know the person that you were. But the person that you are is one tough as hell, shit talking, good hearted, bee-taming son of a bitch and I’ll be damned if you’re not the most frustratingly charming man I’ve ever known in my life.”

Connor had grown perfectly still, his hands in two curled-up fists at his sides. “Hank - “

“I’m not done,” Hank interrupted, plowing on, unable to stop now. “I’ve seen you go to hell and back since we started this shit job and you’ve never once given up on them, or on me. Fucking hell, kid, I don’t even know if Connor is your real name, and at this point I don’t even give a shit. Your past hasn’t mattered to me until now and - it still doesn’t,” he said with a sort of conviction, throwing his hands up as the last of his thoughts tumbled out. “I’ve got a lot of shit I’m dragging with me too, trust me, and I don’t want to rope you into anything you don’t wanna do so - if you don’t want to travel with me anymore, then fine, alright, just say so. I’m sorry that I pissed you off when you’re already nervous so let’s just… fuckin’ talk about this tomorrow.”

“Of course I want to travel with you,” Connor said, standing in the starlight with the river behind him, sounding completely and utterly exasperated. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you. I don’t want to do that ever again in my entire life.”

They both stepped forward at the same time, and then Connor put his hands on Hank’s face, and kissed him.

Kissing Connor was absolutely everything and absolutely nothing like Hank expected. He was gentle, pressing up against Hank like wanted to get closer but was afraid to, and Hank gathered Connor up in his arms, pulled him tight against his chest and kissed him back. Connor tasted like raspberries and whiskey and campfire smoke, like wildflowers, like honey. He rubbed his fingertips into Hank’s beard, trailing up his cheeks, and Hank drew him closer, Connor’s mouth parting under his. The feeling was so familiar, it was like Hank had done it a million or more times before, like he had been doing it for years, like Connor fit just right alongside him and always had.

Hank was sure they had somehow ceased the need to breathe, but eventually they pulled apart, their foreheads pressed together, and Connor said, voice raspy, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be - I should go.”

He could barely get the words out before he kissed Hank again, hands twisted in his jacket now, more deeply, more slowly, and Hank pressed his fingers against Connor’s jaw, pulling him closer. Connor eventually moved away again, breathing heavily.

“Shit,” he said. He looked utterly amazed.

“Where were you going again?” Hank asked, amused. “To my tent?”

“I believe it is now our tent,” Connor said in a delicate voice. His face was flushed, even in the starlight, his body all languid and relaxed as he leaned against Hank, and then he had his face in Hank’s neck, his arms around him, just holding him there. It felt almost no different from sitting next to him by the fire, or on the wagon, or on the porch, or sleeping together, Connor’s head on his chest, over his heartbeat, an extension of everything that had grown between them.

“I need to tell you something, Hank,” Connor said quietly after some time had passed.

“Yeah, I need to tell you somethin’ too,” Hank said. “I’ll go first. I should’ve kissed you on the porch of Jimmy’s bar the first fuckin’ day we met.”

Connor actually laughed, sounding surprised as he pulled back and looked at Hank with a fond, knowing smile. That hadn’t been what Connor was talking about, but he was pleased all the same, a smug look on his face like he had been proven correct. “You thought I was going to be a pain in your ass.”

“Trust me kid, you are,” Hank said. “And I’m entirely fuckin’ alright with that.”

“I should have kissed you at Jimmy’s,” Connor said, leaning forward to tip his face against Hank’s again. “And on the front of the wagon, and by the beehive, and by the river, and at the outpost, and by that raspberry bush…” With each memory, he did kiss Hank, on his mouth and his face and his beard, and Hank sighed and leaned against him, feeling Connor’s hands on his face, gentle, like he had to protect Hank with everything he had.

Connor pulled away, then, and peeled the blanket off from around Hank’s shoulders, throwing it on the ground where their footsteps had already tamped down the grass. Hank laid down next to him, like they had every other night, but this night the tall flowers made a little wall around them, and above them was the sky, full of stars. Connor settled next to him, curled closer than ever. It was a little cold, with the breeze coming off the river, but Hank threw the other blanket over them and settled down with his hands behind his head.

“You don’t wanna go back to - our tent?” Hank murmured.

“No,” Connor said. “I want to memorize everything about this place, right now. Because tomorrow you might not…”

“Might not what? Be alive because my old heart couldn’t handle your passionate wiles?” Hank teased. He put his arm around Connor, cradling his shoulder, feeling him loosen up. “Give me some credit here, kid.”

Connor huffed indignantly into his shirt, but Hank got it, he understood, at least part of it. Tucked up next to Connor, Hank felt an ache deep in his chest, a good ache, for once, instead of painful. It felt like being in the tent would be suffocating, like the weight of everything was pressing down on them, and Hank had to just lay there and breathe, feel the air on his face and Connor’s solid warmth next to him.

He thought about Markus and Simon, how much closer they had become, or maybe they had just been that way all along and now they just didn’t care. Hank didn’t want to waste any more time, either. Connor was right, tomorrow, or any other day, they might drown or get crushed under the wagon wheels or die by a random strike of unlucky lightning. But what Connor wasn’t right about was that there was any chance in hell Hank would wake up tomorrow and regret this. He was too old for that shit. He wanted this, he felt like he deserved it, even, that he and Connor were worthy of each other, fit perfectly together in this strange way, a little miracle. Or a big one.

“Hey,” Hank said eventually, rubbing Connor’s shoulder. “What did you wanna tell me, really?”

Connor was silent for a very long time, so long Hank might have thought he fell asleep, if he didn’t know the sound of his breathing so well.

Finally he spoke, his voice pressed up against Hank’s shirt. “I think you’re right. I think we should let them go.”

“Okay, kid,” Hank breathed, holding him for fear he might fly off into the stars. ”But I think that can wait until tomorrow. ”

Connor moved over him again, kissing him until they were tangled together under the blanket, but by dawn they were both asleep, the sun rising to their east, over Springfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Old College Try - the Mountain Goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnLol5gJWj4)
> 
> oooOOOoo LORD can you BELIEVE my original outline for this story was only like 10 chapters?? LMAO
> 
> We're 130k in and the smooching has just begun... I am so excited to finish this trip with you guys (eventually...)and can't thank you enough for reading, leaving kudos and for all of your beautiful comments. Reading your thoughts and theories is such a bright spot in my life, I am having so much fun writing this. *yeehaw full of pure love and devotion*


	24. too busy being yours

Gavin thought about getting shot a lot. 

He remembered everything about it, how the leaves looked, the damp coolness of the air and the sound of the birds shrieking at the sound of the gunshot that Nine fired off across the clearing into Gavin’s side. It had taken days for Nine to even do _that,_ with both of them waiting on either side of the grove, Gavin behind a massive tree trunk, Lou and Nine all tucked up against the cliff, backed into a corner. And finally, Nine had fired, one shot, and that was all it took. Perfectly, right between Gavin’s ribs, deflating Gavin’s pride at his own cleverness as he slumped back against the tree and laid there awake long enough to think, _Of course he would be the fucking one to kill me._

He had passed out, then, and came to in a puddle of his own blood with a family of trappers huddled around him. They brought him to the next town, Genova, and that where Gavin lay for weeks, eventually lucid enough to press his hand against his side and vow that he would stay alive out of pure god damn spite. The thought kept him going, that he would find Nine, again, and again, and again, as long as it took, until one or both of them were dead. 

Wouldn’t be much longer now. They had maybe a month’s ride left, total. If the weather held, if they didn’t make any other detours, it would be even less time. Thinking about it made Gavin’s stomach turn over and over again. It wasn’t excitement, exactly, it was more like dread, that something would go wrong before they got to Plainview, or maybe that it wouldn’t. Maybe that Gavin was going to bring Nine there and he wouldn’t feel any differently, wouldn’t feel any more fulfilled than he did right now. That it wouldn’t make any kind of difference, that Kamski wouldn’t care, Gavin would start itching for something else - somebody else - to run after. But it was true. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find another like Nine.

It was a half day’s ride to the strangers’ fire. After cursing at each other that morning, neither of them had said a word. Nine just sat in his saddle, riding behind Gavin, so silent Gavin occasionally glanced back at him to see if he was even still there. This was a different silence, than how it had been before. This didn’t feel charged up, full of static electricity and the occasional burst of traded insults; it was like everything in the air had been sucked out, like the atmosphere was just empty, like there was nothing left to say.

It was so fucking boring. Gavin would have taken the arguments over this, of course. But his anger stopped him from speaking at all, and Nine was back to being cold and distant. Neither of them broke the silence until finally, as the sounds of the camp drew within reach, Gavin said over his shoulder, “Don’t say anything about who you are.”

“I will not say anything at all,” Nine said, short and cold, and Gavin turned back to the path ahead.

 

~

 

The strangers were surprisingly boisterous, making no attempt to conceal their camp or fire, the blare of harmonica ringing out through the trees again, along with drunken laughter and shouting. It wasn't dark, but it would be soon, and lord only knew what kind of people were waiting ahead of them.

It was a little fucking frustrating, but since he and Nine had argued, Gavin’s entire desire to even go to this place had disappeared. He wasn’t about to admit it, or to turn around; he was too stubborn for that. He would fuck some old man out of pure spite, if it came down to it. He would do whatever he had to do to piss Nine off, to get some kind of reaction from him. That wasn’t all it was about, of course, but it was certainly part of it. Maybe a big part. 

Gavin started whistling as they approached, and then got off of his horse altogether, gesturing at Nine to step out of his saddle too. Gavin grabbed a couple of things from his pack - more tobacco and papers, his matches, his knife which he tucked into his boot, just in case. And, just as he was about to turn off, he grabbed the loaded pair of dice and dropped them into his tobacco pouch. Maybe he could make a little money out of this whole stupid scheme, if nothing else.

Nine had slipped into that stranger’s posture, making himself look smaller and less confident. His bad mood really lent itself to his poor appearance, which Gavin felt was helpful, given his clothes were fairly clean after their recent wash. He had Gavin’s red bandana around his face, and his black hat tipped down on top of his head, but instead of his bright sharp gaze peering out, he looked utterly exhausted, the bags under his eyes like two dark bruises. He couldn’t help his height, or his body; those things would always be intimidating. Gavin was sure _he_ would always be able to look at him and see who he really was, but to anyone else, Gavin figured he looked every bit the captured criminal.

It was a good thing too, because as they suddenly came close to breaking into the clearing, a man appeared from behind one of the trees with a shotgun that very quickly pointed much too closely at Gavin’s face.

“Whoa, whoa now, we mean no harm,” Gavin said at once, lifting his hands innocently and stepping in front of Nine. “Just passing through. Haven’t run into anyone in a while so figured I’d get some news.”

“What’s your name?” the man said suspiciously. He was older, with a big white mustache and a face red from years of drinking. 

“Miller,” Gavin lied easily. His scar was distinctive, but only if the person already knew who he was. Nine had never been through this area in the time Gavin had known him, and so Gavin hadn’t either.  If they were just regular travelers in this area, hunters, trappers, whatever, there was no real reason for them to care much about bounty hunters, to know Gavin’s name - or to suspect who Nine was. Hopefully. 

“And what about him?” the man asked, nodding towards Nine at Gavin’s side, no doubt taking in the ropes and bandana. “You bringing him in somewhere?”

“Yeah, just tryin’ to get to the closest town so I can send a telegram out,” Gavin said. “Maybe y’all could point me in the right direction. Unless you’re bothered by the presence of those in my profession, in which case I’ll move right along.” 

“Hm,” the man said. He lowered the shotgun, then, but his look towards Gavin was still appraising and hard. “That’ll be for the boss to decide.” 

Well, shit. That didn’t sound very comforting.

The old man shrugged then, and gestured towards the camp genially enough. “I’ve been keepin’ watch, but it’s about time for my break. Name’s Hal. Come on, Zlatko will want to meet you.”

He whistled, then, a short sharp little tune, and turned off.

They followed him into the clearing, leaving the horses tied up to a nearby tree. Gavin could practically taste Nine’s discomfort. Gavin was too stubborn to share it, and so they joined the other strangers at the fire.

 

~

 

The camp was sprawling, poorly set up with all the tents and logs scattered around, but clearly lived in. There was a huge fire off to the right side of the clearing, with maybe a half a dozen people playing cards next to it, and then a handful of others, lounging around and smoking and drinking. People of all kinds, a mix of men and women, clearly long-term travelers. 

They had all turned to look at Gavin and Nine approaching, listened intently as Hal explained their appearance, and Gavin watched as everyone collectively seemed to look towards the same man, sitting on a tree stump by the fire. Zlatko, no doubt. He was big and pale, dark-haired and dark-bearded, and quite clearly the person in charge. He had an easy, friendly confidence about him, and he kept one hand on each knee, appraising Gavin for a moment. Probably thinking the same thing Gavin was - do I know this man?

They both seemed to come to the same conclusion, as Zlatko shrugged and said, “Well, no harm in some good company, ain’t that right?” 

“Right,” Gavin agreed. The others seemed to just accept whatever Zlatko said, and so returned to their card game. 

“Well, set down and Hal will pour you some moonshine,” Zlatko said, making it sound like a suggestion, just as his next words sounded, “Not much room by the fire. He could sit over here on the ground between us. I don’t mind folks like him.”

Gavin followed Zlatko’s eyes from Nine, standing just behind him, to the log where Hal was sitting with just enough space on his left for Gavin to join him, crowded in next to everyone else around the fire - and then over to where Zlatko was, holding court from his tree stump, with a generous space on the ground next to him, looking at Nine with nothing but curiosity. 

If Zlatko didn’t know who Nine was already - even if he never figured it out, and even if it didn’t matter - he had some interest in him, and whatever it was, Gavin didn’t like it. He felt a flare of something hot and sharp between his ribs - annoyance, jealousy, protectiveness? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

“As long as he stays right there,” Gavin said, and Zlatko smiled.

“Alright then, don’t be shy,” Zlatko said, settling his hands on his knees as he looked at them, and Gavin gestured Nine forward.

He watched Nine pick his way around the fire to finally turn and sink gracefully down in the dirt next to Zlatko. Gavin felt like he couldn’t scramble to sit next to him fast enough, but once he settled down on the log next to Hal, Zlatko turned his attentions away from Nine entirely.

It was as if he wasn’t even there. Hal filled everyone’s cups back up, including a fresh one for Gavin. The smell damn near brought tears to his eyes, but he drank it down all the same. The others were returned to their drinking and card games, laughing and talking amongst themselves, with Zlatko occasionally chiming in, but for the most part he strictly talked to Gavin, asking him where they were traveling from, if they’d run into any trouble, where they were headed to. Gavin lied about most of it.

Zlatko said they had traveled from up north, too, but had been camping here for a couple of weeks now. They were waiting for their hunting party to come back, hopefully by noon tomorrow, and then they’d continue east. He didn’t say where, and Gavin didn’t ask. 

Nine was sitting with one knee drawn to his chest, as usual, his eyes straight ahead into the fire. He was the only thing between Gavin and Zlatko, and so he must have been listening to their conversation, Gavin knew he was. He just wished he knew what Nine was thinking.

“You get caught in those storms upstate? There was a nasty bout of them,” Zlatko said. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pouch of tobacco.

“Want one of these? I’ll roll you one,” Gavin offered, already halfway through rolling a cigarette for himself.

“No thank you, I’m quite particular to my tastes,” Zlatko said with a nod towards him. “So, the storms?”

“Nah, think we were a little too west to run into the worst of it,” Gavin said. Hal leaned over and lit his cigarette for him. “Did get caught up and stuck in a cave for a couple of days, in the mountains,” Gavin added as he sat back on the log. He felt Nine’s eyes on him. “Damn near could’ve just sat on my ass and slid all the way down the cliff with all the mud afterwards.”

The smoke from Zlatko’s cigarette drifted into Gavin’s face, mixed with his own. It was a familiar smell. Nine’s tobacco. Four Roses.

“Must’ve come down through Delta County, eh?” Zlatko said, holding out his cup for Hal to refill. “Beautiful area.”

Nine was still looking at Gavin. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it was.”

“Now, I hate to be such a presumptuous host,” Zlatko said then, fixing Gavin with his dark eyes, “but before you arrived, we were in the midst of a card game. My companions have continued without me, but I was on a winning streak I’d quite like to continue.” He leaned forward with his palms on his knees. “You seem like a betting man, Miller.”

Everyone was looking at him now. He could feel it. Gavin had to tear his gaze away from Nine’s. “I’d bet my life you are too, Zlatko.”

Zlatko laughed, then, and some of the others joined him, including Hal. “You would keep your life in that bet. But that particular stake, we will save for another night. We just play for petty change and cigarettes.” 

“Sounds fair enough,” Gavin said. He raised his cup of moonshine to his lips, but didn’t drink, not this time. When he looked back at Nine, his eyes had returned to the fire.

 

~

 

They played for a couple of hours, nearly everyone winning at least one game. Gavin would have expected the others to let Zlatko have the upper hand, but they all seemed to play at an equal level, and Gavin found himself doing quite well.

While everyone talked and smoked and laughed and drank more and more, Gavin carefully sipped from the same cup of moonshine, refiling it only twice in the same amount of hours, an incredible feat for him. He kept Hal distracted, asking him for advice on his hand of cards, asking him about his methods of making moonshine, how he’d gotten into it, what his secrets were. The old man was eager to drink and eager to talk, and once Gavin folded, he wordlessly took over the task of pouring from the jug, which made it all the easier.

Hal was delighted. Gavin remained about as sober as he had ever been. As did Zlatko, who had drank nearly as much as Hal but seemed perfectly fine. 

There was something strange going on. Gavin knew it, and so did the voice in his head that was telling him to keep himself together, to stay alert, to be careful. It sounded a lot like Nine’s voice, actually. Gavin wasn’t sure if he was surprised by that or not. It didn’t matter. For all Zlatko’s charm and generosity, there was something behind his smile, something Gavin couldn’t bring himself to trust. 

And Nine - Nine was so nervous, it made Gavin’s skin crawl. He sat in that same stance, observing, but his body was so tense and drawn, his eyes strange and sharp in the darkness. Maybe it was the effect of the rest of his sad appearance, but Gavin felt like something was really truly fucking wrong. Maybe not enough to merit causing some big scene, but Gavin knew for a fact they would leave as soon as they could.

“Hal, why don’t you play a round,” Zlatko called out, gesturing towards him. “Come and join us.” 

He nodded between Hal and Gavin, then, and Hal stood up, knocking against Gavin as he shuffled around the side of the log. “Scoot over, this old man’s gotta be sittin’ up straight.”

Suddenly Gavin felt himself pushed over to the opposite end of the log, and Hal took his spot sitting next to Nine.

It was a difference of a few feet, but it was a difference that put Zlatko much closer to Nine than Gavin was, now. Gavin watched Nine’s eyes flicker between them, the way he shifted on the ground, drawing his other knee to his chest, angling himself slightly away from Zlatko and moving his gaze to rest on Gavin’s again.

“You,” Gavin heard himself say over the blood rushing in his ears, “come here.” 

He wasn’t sure what he expected. That Nine would just go along with it, he supposed. That he was looking for a chance to get away from Zlatko. Instead, Nine tilted his head slightly and said in a condescending tone, “And sit where? In the fire?” 

“If you don’t get off your ass right now, then fuck yes,” Gavin said, leaning forward, staring at him and seeing red. “I won’t say it again. Come here.”

Everyone was staring at them, pretending like they weren’t, their cards forgotten in their hands. The fire flickered. Zlatko took a sip of moonshine. 

There was a pause, a few seconds of silence, and then Nine reluctantly rose to his feet and stepped away from Zlatko’s side. Gavin felt as though time was slowing down as Nine approached, that same way he had felt as Nine emerged from the pond by the waterfall, coming towards Gavin with his hands curled into loose fists. This time, they were bound together, and this time, Nine stepped closer, and in that tiny space by the fire, crowded in next to everyone, Gavin opened up his knees and planted his feet in the dirt, and Nine turned around and dropped down to sit between his legs. 

Gavin became incredibly, painfully aware of everything about Nine very quickly. He could feel the anger radiating off of him in hot waves. He couldn’t see Nine’s face, now, but he could see the line of his shoulders and neck right there, so tense and taut, close enough to touch, and Gavin did, without thinking, laying his palm on Nine’s shoulder like he was claiming him.

And then Nine drew his knee to his chest once more and honest to god relaxed. Gavin felt his muscles shift under his hand, heard the change in his breath. He looked utterly at ease all of a sudden, as if he were used to Gavin ordering him around and keeping him close. 

“He’s got a mouth on him,” Zlatko said appreciatively, breaking the silence. “Bet you’ll be glad to get him off your hands.”

“I sure will,” Gavin said, squeezing Nine’s shoulder one last time and then releasing it. “More moonshine?” 

They played another round, though this time Gavin sat it out and just watched. He listened to Nine’s breathing instead. Was he nervous still? It seemed like it, but also seemed calm as fuck, like everything was going according to plan. Maybe Nine had a plan, but Gavin certainly didn’t. Though so far there was nothing really to suggest they should be on edge, Gavin still was, anyway. He was _sure_ Zlatko knew - either who Nine was, or at the very least, that he was no ordinary criminal. What Zlatko did with that information was anyone’s guess. Gavin may have looked like a dumb son of a bitch, drinking and smoking and talking shit with this scar over his face, a scar that said he got in trouble and didn’t give a fuck. But he wasn’t stupid. He knew when something was wrong; whether he avoided it or ran headfirst towards it, that was the real question.

He wondered what Nine would tell him to do. Not that he’d listen.

 

~

 

A couple of hours later it was pushing midnight and the other strangers were starting to drop off into sleep. Everyone scattered around the camp, some of them into tents on the periphery of the forest, some of them just stretching out in their blankets on the ground. Soon it was just Gavin and Nine, Zlatko, Hal, and a couple of others, a guy named Benny who was watching Gavin with hard eyes, and a woman whose name Gavin couldn’t remember. She and Zlatko were sitting with their heads bowed together, talking about something. Gavin poured Hal another cup of moonshine.

“After this, I best settle up and take watch,” Hal said, tilting his glass against Gavin’s. “There’s quite a lot could happen in the dark.” 

“I imagine,” Gavin said, staring at the long line of Nine’s neck. “You know the best way to Kenton?”

“That’s a bit southwest of here,” Hal said with some difficulty. He was squinting. “You said you need to send a telegram? There’s a safe house ain’t far from here, they’ll do it.” 

“That ain’t no safe house,” Benny said all of a sudden, and the others were looking at him. “That ain’t no fuckin safe house,” he repeated. “Go on to Kenton.”

Gavin saw Nine shifting from where he sat. He put his hand back on his shoulder. He could feel his heartbeat, fast and erratic, betraying how calm he seemed. The muscle connecting his neck and shoulder was hard and tense. His breathing was slow, controlled. Fuck, Gavin wanted to get the hell out of this place so bad.

“I plan on it,” Gavin finally said. “Suppose I should be getting back on the trail soon.”

“Why don’t you take some moonshine with you,” Hal said enthusiastically. 

“Oh, you can’t tell me you’re taking off in the middle of the night,” Zlatko said, talking over him. “Go ahead and spread out somewhere by the fire.”

“We best be goin,” Gavin said again evenly, aware of Nine waiting between his legs. “I think we’ve intruded long enough.” 

“Ain’t no intrusion at all,” Zlatko said, that friendly smile on his face. “Stay the night. There’s worse than bears in those woods. Men like him,” he nodded towards Nine, then, and Gavin had to resist the urge to touch his shoulder again. “I insist.”

It was quiet, tense almost. Zlatko wasn’t used to being questioned. The others all listened to him, but Gavin was a stranger. He could just as easily stand up and leave, and if Zlatko was just a traveler as he claimed, he’d have no reason to stop them.

But if he did have a reason, there was a big old revolver at his side with his hand only inches from the trigger. Gavin was a betting man. But he wasn’t ready to bet his or Nine’s life on Zlatko’s trustworthiness. 

“Alright,” Gavin said. “We’ll leave at dawn. Need to grab my blankets from the horse.” 

“Hal will fetch em, won’t you Hal,” and he did, rising at once and leaving the fire behind. Gavin didn’t move, and neither did Zlatko. “You keep him close, don’t you.”

“I have to,” Gavin said, watching Nine’s head turn to the side, listening. “He might run off.”

“He might,” Zlatko agreed. He leaned forward, like he was sharing a secret with Gavin over the fire, and winked. “You’re wise to be careful. Hell of a lot of those who would love to get their hands on somebody like him.”

“I’m sure there are,” Gavin said, “but he’s mine now.”

Hal returned with the blanket roll as Gavin and Zlatko studied each other over the fire. Zlatko had a way of speaking so sincerely, but Gavin knew it was bullshit. They had to get the fuck out of here as soon as they could sneak away. 

For half a second Gavin was sure Zlatko was just going to sit by the fire all night and watch them. Instead, Hal dropped the pack next to Gavin and cleared his throat. “Gonna sit down and take watch, boss.”

“Alright, Hal,” Zlatko was distracted - Benny was saying something to him, quiet, and the blonde woman next to them was grinning. 

Gavin felt a surge of satisfaction. Hal had drank a lot, and his face was red, mouth loose, just unsteady enough on his feet that Gavin knew he was plastered. Gavin had seen him nodding off once or twice during the card game. He’d be asleep within the hour, and they could sneak off into the night. 

He reached for his bottle of whiskey, careful not to press his legs in closer around Nine’s body, feeling him shift and glance back over his shoulder at Gavin. They watched the others in silence, Zlatko and Benny disappearing into the largest tent, and the woman going into a smaller one on its left. Hal hunkered down against a tree at the periphery of the camp, his shotgun at his side, and began to whistle.

Gavin waited, staring into the fire. Hal stopped whistling, and though he wasn’t asleep, he was leaning against the tree trunk with his eyes far off. Slowly, Gavin moved his hand from his leg, over to Nine’s shoulder, spreading his fingers over the fabric of his shirt, holding him in place, and then he leaned forward to speak quietly next to him.

“We’ll leave when I say.” He watched Hal, making sure he wasn’t listening. “Once everyone’s asleep.” 

“Reed,” Nine murmured, not looking at him, “you truly think it will be that easy?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Gavin drew closer, speaking barely above a whisper, uncharacteristic for him. He wouldn’t admit it, but Nine’s words struck a sudden crack into Gavin’s confidence.

“You do not know who that man is?” Nine shook his head, just once, back and forth, before settling straight ahead again. “This is why you should stop drinking.”

“Oh, christ,” Gavin muttered, annoyed, but also feeling a wave of energy seize him over what Nine had said. “I suppose you know him then.” 

“Yes,” Nine whispered. “And he knows me.”

Gavin’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Fuck. How?” 

“He is a criminal,” Nine said. “Zlatko Andronikov. You saw his poster in Monte Vista. Wanted for bank robbery, arson and assault, with a four thousand dollar reward. Well known for his charms and cruelties. He is not officially wanted for murder, but…” 

“That just means he hasn’t killed anyone important,” Gavin finished, understanding.

“Not yet,” Nine said, and Gavin hummed in agreement. He could kind of remember Zlatko’s poster now. He had been so focused on Nine, on his own desires. He could really be stupid sometimes. 

“Well, shit,” he finally said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nine huffed out what might have been a laugh, and it was strange, how Gavin’s soul lightened at the sound, at the way the angry tension between them had melted away in this shared space by the fire. Nine asked, “How?”

“Well genius, I don’t fucking know. We need a signal or something.”

“Perhaps you could learn morse code and we could blink messages to each other,” Nine said, definitely amused.

It wasn’t a bad idea, in all honesty. They should have thought of this weeks ago. “Wait, you know morse code?”

“Yes, but that is unimportant considering you do not and I am quite literally not in any position to teach you.”

“Well, fucking whatever.” Gavin tapped his fingers on his shoulder, thinking. “You think he knows?”

“I am unsure if he recognizes me,” Nine said slowly. “I am both convinced and entirely uncertain. He has that effect.”

“He had your tobacco,” Gavin whispered, “but that couldn’t have been planned.” 

“No,” Nine agreed. “But I am sure that you cannot fall asleep, Reed. That’s what they’re waiting for. Whether they know who I am or not already, they will find out.”

“Not even tired,” Gavin said in a boastful whisper. “You think they’ll ask you to join up with ‘em? Zlatko’s new right hand man?” 

“I’d rather hang,” Nine said, and Gavin laughed, low and under his breath. “But I imagine you are correct. I imagine they’ll kill you as well.” He paused, adding, “They will probably ask me to do it.” 

“I bet you’d love that, huh,” Gavin whispered. “Finally, your chance. I know you’ve thought about it.”

Nine took a breath, like he was about to say something but stopped himself. He paused, and then he said, “At least you, I can understand. I will not fear for my life until we are within the Plainview town limits. I do not seek the company of others so if I can’t be alone, if I must be held like this, I would prefer to have it be with you.” 

Gavin didn’t know what to say to that. He reached for his tobacco as Hal jolted into focus, looking at his pocketwatch, and then whistled again, that same short melody, before leaning back up against the tree. Zlatko’s lantern was still on, though the tent was quiet from any audible conversation. As he smoked, he thought about offering the cigarette to Nine, and very nearly did. Instead, he kept it raised to his lips, smoking through the entire thing in half the time as usual, contemplating what Nine had said.

Fuck, this really wasn’t good. Gavin had hoped, maybe against his better judgment, that Zlatko was just another traveler, maybe shiftier than some, more curious than he should be. But Gavin’s hope of sneaking quietly away seemed to be melting off into the cool of the night. 

Gavin glanced around the camp, keeping his gaze casual. Nearly everyone was asleep; far off on the other side of camp were a trio of people still awake around their own small fire, whispering and paying no mind to Gavin and Nine. Hal was still lounging at his spot by the tree. Zlatko had yet to fall asleep, either, his lantern on, a shape moving in the shadows inside. A few minutes passed and then Hal was looking at them once more, reaching for his pocket watch, and then, he was whistling.

Once he was done, Gavin leaned closer to Nine again, so close to his ear they were nearly touching. “A signal,” he breathed, and Nine nodded, just once, in agreement.

“We’re gettin out of here,” Gavin whispered. “Not sure how yet. But we’re gettin out.”

Gavin knew they were both watching, both listening, both learning. It seemed to be every fifteen minutes that Hal checked on them, whistling that same little tune, and Zlatko’s lantern stayed on all the while. Hal had whistled something different, when they had arrived. Gavin wasn’t sure, but he could only imagine it was a message, telling Zlatko the two of them were still there, still awake. _Wait._

Gavin was used to waiting. His patience was usually thin, but for some matters he could stretch himself out for days, not sleeping, not eating, too stubborn to give up. That was how it had been in Wyoming, with Gavin trying to wait out Nine and Lou. He had nearly done it, too. It was Nine’s impatience, actually, that had ended things after all. But today, he seemed just as collected as ever.

Nine shifted slightly, then murmured up to him, “Look.” 

Hal was leaning back with his eyes closed, and Nine was breathing evenly, watching. Hal’s chin nodded forward once, twice, and then he jumped awake. Glanced at them. Watch. Whistle. 

“He was sixty three seconds late,” Nine murmured once Hal had settled back again. “He’s falling asleep.” 

“Won’t have much time,” Gavin whispered. He was impressed. Nine must have been keeping time since Hal’s last whistle. “If he’s too late, I bet Zlatko’s gonna come out here.” Nine nodded, once. “I made sure he got good and drunk. Surprised the boss let him stay out here.” 

“That was intentional, then,” Nine said, tilting his head slightly towards Gavin’s. He had grown almost comfortable, leaning forward next to Nine, talking closely with him. “I quite thought you were just enjoying yourself.”

“I barely filled my cup,” Gavin replied. “You didn’t notice?”

“No,” Nine said, then added, “that is good.”

“Yeah, alright,” Gavin breathed. That was good. If Nine, who damn near noticed everything about Gavin, hadn’t realized he was holding back, Zlatko and the others definitely wouldn’t have. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Many years ago,” Nine said. “Long before you found me. Before Connor died.”

“I bet he’s fucked up.”

“He is,” Nine said. “Yet he always has his followers.”

“Men like him are good at that,” Gavin said. “Like my father.” He settled back, stretching his arms over his head with a sigh. “He knew how to get what he wanted. How to get other people to think they wanted the same thing.”

“My mother was the same,” Nine said, contemplative, quiet. “Perhaps they would have gotten along.” 

Like us? Gavin thought, but didn’t say. “He would have chased her to the ends of the earth.” 

Nine didn’t respond to that. The silence grew between them, and Gavin rolled another cigarette. Soon Hal was whistling again, stilted, a yawn cutting through the middle of it. They would have to move quickly.

“Why did you.. fuckin sass me back there?” Gavin asked suddenly, looking down at the side of Nine’s face. His profile was impassive. “When I asked you to move.”

“Asked,” Nine scoffed.

“Same shit.”

“Not quite.” Nine shrugged one shoulder. “If I followed everything you said, he may suspect me passive, or submissive to you. But if not, he may have sensed - or could still sense, I imagine - an opportunity to turn me against you, if it came to that. It would work in our favor for him to think there is tension between us.”

“I guess we both have our tricks,” Gavin said. His mouth felt dry for some reason. “You talk like you wouldn’t kill me the first chance you got. Admit it. I know that’s what you were gonna say before.”

“Excuse me,” Nine murmured, “do you not feel exactly the same way?” 

“I could kill you anytime,” Gavin said. “But I won’t.”

“As I said,” Nine said. “Exactly the same.”

“So you’ve thought about it,” Gavin said. He took another sip of whiskey, spurring himself on. He almost felt like he wanted to start an argument, not that he could do that when they were in a situation like this. The days of tense terrible silence had knocked Gavin off of his feet. He didn’t know what he wanted now, exactly, other than for Nine to answer.

Nine was quiet for a while, and then finally said, his voice a low murmur, “Of course I have. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I guess,” Gavin said. He felt like his heart was beating extraordinarily fast. “I guess I just - wanna know you don’t wanna die.”

Nine hummed thoughtfully. Gavin took another drag of his cigarette, looking at the back of Nine’s head, his palm on Nine’s shoulder, thumb resting just under the collar. He could feel the warmth of Nine’s skin through his shirt. Alive.

“How would you do it?” Gavin heard himself asking, like he was somebody else, looking in on the two of them tucked together by the fire.

“How would I - kill you?” Nine said in a disbelieving voice.

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “You already tried once. Bullet through the ribs. Didn’t quite do the trick, but maybe the second time’s the charm.” 

Nine actually did laugh, then, quiet and astonished, and then he said in a considering voice, “No, I don’t think so. Far too impersonal. It was a mistake.” 

“A mistake, huh,” Gavin breathed.

“I should have just put my hands on you,” Nine said, and Gavin felt like all the blood in his body had suddenly rushed to his dick and he was about to just up and die anyway. What the fuck was _that_ about?

Gavin exhaled, sharp and rough, and Nine was suddenly sitting very still, frozen, unmoving. Gavin was so aware of him it was painful. He stared at the back of his neck, his dark hair curling down over his freckles, the line of Nine’s spine disappearing down into his shirt, and then, his face hot, Gavin lifted his hand and placed it on the back of Nine’s neck. 

He felt his bones and muscles shifting under his skin, and as he rested his fingers on the softer skin on either side of his neck, Gavin could feel Nine’s heartbeat too, quick and nervous, so unlike the way he appeared. He had to have imagined it, but he was sure for a moment that Nine was leaning back into his hand.

“I suppose I could break your neck,” Nine murmured. “I would much rather go slowly.”

“Tell me,” Gavin said, his blood roaring in his ears.

Nine did shift backwards, then, arching his neck against Gavin’s palm, tilting his head slightly to the side so Gavin’s hand moved down, around the side of his neck, behind his ear. “I would put my hand there,” he said quietly, his voice muffled and low under his bandana, and Gavin kept sliding his hand forward. His palm felt rough against Nine’s bare skin, and he followed a trail of freckles around the front of Nine’s throat, brushing against the ends of his beard.

“Here?” Gavin asked, pausing. Gavin pulled his hand away slightly, just touching his fingertips to the side of Nine’s windpipe. Gavin felt him swallow. He was sure neither of them were breathing.

“Yes,” he whispered. “But I would want to see your face.” 

Gavin’s whole body was pulsing. He laid his hand flat on Nine’s neck, under his jaw, tilted his head back against his leg, looking into his eyes for the first time in hours. He held back a breath as the look on Nine’s face made something dark convulse and twist deep inside him, so aroused it was almost unbearable.

“Nine…” His voice sounded curious, strange as the glassy-eyed expression painted all over Nine, satisfied, unfocused, the same way he had looked smoking Gavin’s cigarette back in the cave, one of the first times Gavin had looked at him and _wanted_ , wanted to look at him, wanted to touch him, wanted to know him. Gavin wanted now, too, he wanted to rip his bandana off and see Nine’s face, his whole face, his mouth, know what he was thinking, and so he did, tugging it down over his lips, his chin, until it hung loose down around his neck. He tilted his head back into Gavin’s lap, looking up at him as Gavin’s hand paused along the side of his jaw. His skin was hot, his face flushed and freckled up close, all along the sharp lines of his cheeks and nose. His mouth parted slightly. He was close enough that Gavin could feel his breath.

Gavin had wrapped a hand around his throat before, in anger, in frustration. But Gavin had never touched him like this. He was pretty sure he had never touched anybody like this.

He couldn’t help himself. He stroked his hand down, over and then under the fabric, seeking out the long column of Nine’s throat, the hum of his breath palpable under his palm, feeling Nine leaning into his touch, closing his eyes. The feeling was overwhelming, like some deep magnetic force was drawing Gavin’s hand forward, until Gavin reached the base of his neck and brushed against the little indent there, where his collarbones met. An odd, low sound escaped Nine’s chest, almost like a sigh, and he jumped forward as if he had been burned, suddenly, his head snapping forward as he moved out of Gavin’s grasp. 

Gavin ripped his hand away, nearly falling off his seat in the process. Neither of them moved or said a word. Gavin’s heart was pounding as he flexed his hand into a fist, still hot from Nine’s skin. His every nerve was burning. Nine sat completely still, bent forward, his knees pulled to his chest. Gavin could see his shoulders move up and down as he breathed, unsteadily, like he had just run a great distance. Gavin realized he was holding his breath.

He finally let out a long, slow exhale, though it did nothing for the buzzing under his skin and the tight ache in his chest. What the _hell_ was he doing?

There was no time to think about it. Hal began to snore, a loud, droning sound that made Gavin nearly jump out of his skin, and Nine’s head snapped up too, suddenly focused. Before he could think, Gavin reached forward with both hands and tugged the bandana back up around Nine’s face as quick as he could.

There were shadows moving in Zlatko’s tent, and then there he was, his big body appearing into the darkness, face drawn into an angry sneer.

“Hal,” he hissed, stalking over to the old man with Benny right on his heels, and Hal was awake at once, startled and grasping at his shotgun. “Benny is taking over, you good for nothing drunk.”

“Boss, I - “ 

“Get the fuck to sleep before I beat you into it,” Zlatko commanded, and Hal stood and scurried off, throwing a brief, ashamed look at Gavin as he disappeared into a pile of blankets, and as Gavin tore his eyes away, he saw that Zlatko was staring at him.

“Still awake, eh,” Zlatko said evenly. The fire cast a strange and terrible glow on his face, the anger still seeping out of him. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Can’t sleep,” Gavin managed to say. “Gotta keep an eye on this one.”

“He’s more than welcome to stay in my tent,” Zlatko said, and Benny chuckled, low and mocking, as he settled by the tree with a shotgun of his own. “I believe I will be up all night.” 

“I believe I will too,” Gavin said. He struggled to keep the hostility from his voice. He wasn’t sure if Zlatko noticed or not. The man only smiled, and disappeared back into his tent.

Gavin watched him go, and then turned, feeling Benny’s eyes on him. He didn’t look tired at all.

Nine didn’t say another word.

 

~

 

The hours passed slow and dark. Gavin couldn’t help himself, there was nothing that could possibly calm his nerves, and so he took a couple too-long sips of whiskey, half-expecting or half-hoping that Nine would say something to him about it. He seemed to have returned to the empty silence of before. _It would work in our favor for him to think there is tension between us._

Well, Zlatko wouldn’t have to think hard. Gavin had never felt so fucking tense in his entire life.

Like clockwork, every quarter hour Benny was whistling his little tune, and Gavin was sitting there, his brain screaming at him to get up and just fucking run. He could take Benny out, probably. Zlatko and the others - that, Gavin knew better than to test. Even if Nine helped him, he doubted that they could take out a dozen men without trouble. Gavin kept his hand on his gun; flexed his foot to feel the knife still solidly inside his boot. He wondered if Nine had seen him put it there. Not that he would ask him now. Gavin was pretty sure he couldn't ever talk to Nine again. He was pretty sure that every time he looked at him, he'd think about that expression, open and hot and curious, and he would probably just simply die. He certainly felt like it now.

Fuck, it was dark. It was warmer by the fire, but the air was still cool, the beginnings of autumn creeping in earlier than Gavin expected. He carefully turned and reached down, grabbing the blanket Hal had dropped by the log earlier, and Gavin shook it out and drew it around himself. The blanket was big enough to drape down over his legs, too, and it sort of hung around Nine like a curtain, shielding him inside. 

Gavin was yawning. He felt Nine shift slightly, for what felt like the first time in hours. “Reed,” he said, a warning.

“Don’t,” Gavin said, because he was pretty sure he couldn’t possibly fucking take the sound of Nine saying his name, not after he had leaned back into Gavin’s lap with that fucking look on his face. “Not tired.”

It was comfortable under the blanket, now. Gavin sat straight up, but closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face, the warmth of Nine’s body close to his.

Suddenly Gavin jolted awake. His hands were back on Nine’s shoulders, resting there, and he was leaning forward still, sort of huddled closer to Nine. He sat back, trying not to move too suddenly. The blanket draped over his head blocked his view of Benny, but that also meant Benny couldn’t see him.

The sky was beginning to brighten, though it was still well before dawn. “Shit,” Gavin breathed. “How long was I out?”

“Perhaps two hours,” Nine said. His voice was barely a whisper. “There was no trouble.”

Gavin realized he hadn’t moved his hands from Nine’s shoulders. He had shifted much closer to Nine, in his sleep, drawing his legs tighter around him, pulling him back towards his chest. He hadn’t wanted to pass out and be vulnerable, but at the same time, he suddenly felt incredibly fucking alert and aware. Zlatko wanted him exhausted, off guard. All he had needed was a couple of hours, and Nine had given it to him. 

“Hey,” Gavin whispered. “Just get a few minutes. While you can.”

And then, just like switching off a lantern, Nine leaned his head against Gavin’s leg and relaxed into sleep. Something about the sight, about how easily Nine gave into it, how tired he must be, it made Gavin’s chest ache, in a different way than before. Gavin had never seen him like this.

God, what the hell was going on? Why the fuck did Gavin - like this. _Want_ this. Sitting here with Nine. Talking to him, scheming with him... fucking touching him. It wasn’t just because he was _interesting._ It was because there was something else there. Something so much more than hatred, for Gavin. Something he could barely name. More than obsession, more than fascination. Understanding. Attraction. He wondered if Nine felt it too, or if he was just touch-starved and crazy, if he was planning something, twisting up Gavin's own stupid desires against him. For some reason, Gavin was certain that wasn't the case. He didn’t know what Nine really wanted - he couldn’t possibly - but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything, anyway. It couldn’t. 

For the first time, Gavin allowed himself to think about the impossible. About what it would be like. If they were just two men, sitting by the fire, not at Zlatko’s camp or anyone else’s, just their own. The two of them together without any warrants or rewards, with no scar on Gavin’s side, with no blood on Nine’s hands. There would be no reason at all for them to meet in such a way. But if they had, would Gavin feel differently? Or would he still want Nine in the same way he wanted him now - both dead and out of his life, and alive and in it, forever.

He was too mixed up, too confused to know the answers, which made it easier in a way, to push it all away, to just think about keeping them alive for the next few minutes. Whatever he felt, whatever this was, it would have to be left behind in Plainview.

Gavin rubbed his thumb across the fabric of Nine’s shirt, over his shoulder, just once, feeling him settle against his leg, and then, he waited.

 

~

 

At dawn he shook Nine awake as discreetly as possible, and peered around the side of his blanket. Benny was still sitting in the same spot, but he had apparently grown bored some time ago of just staring at a lump of blankets, and had moved on to staring out over the rest of the camp.

Satisfied, Gavin glanced down to see Nine blinking at him sleepily. He still had his head resting on Gavin’s leg, leaning against him. “Is he - ?”

“In the tent still,” Gavin whispered. “Nobody up but Benny.”

Gavin smoked a cigarette, cocooning them with smoke as he kept an eye on Benny, still whistling every fifteen minutes. It had become so ingrained in Gavin over the hours that he could anticipate when it was coming, even without a watch.

Zlatko’s lantern had remained on through the night. Any hope of sneaking away had been destroyed with Benny’s appearance, but Zlatko’s lack of sleep certainly hadn’t helped. They had no real plan, not that Gavin had ever really needed one of those before. This time, though, with Nine settled up next to him, he felt like he should maybe think ahead for the first time in his life.

And then, as the sunrise began to spread, Zlatko emerged from his tent, looking like he had slept like a baby. “Alright, everyone up,” he shouted out, sudden and sharp, and up they came, conversation spreading throughout the camp as everyone woke up.

Zlatko turned towards Gavin and Nine. Gavin pushed the blankets back from his face and looked at him. He was smiling.

“Coffee?”  he said, and bent down next to the fire.

“Can’t ever refuse that,” Gavin said, his voice clear. He waited for Zlatko to pour and drink his own cup before he took a sip. Shit, it was pretty good.

The strangers had broken off into their little groups as they prepared for the day. Hal had slunk out and sat down on the log next to Gavin, his posture defeated, chagrined at Zlatko’s dismissal. Zlatko ignored him, talking instead to Benny and the blonde woman who Gavin heard someone name as Madeline. She seemed to be in a considerably worse mood this morning. Zlatko, meanwhile, was cheerful.

“Party should be back by noon,” Benny said as they passed around a loaf of bread and some meat from last night’s dinner. Gavin was offered it, just like anybody else, and Hal refilled his coffee cup. What a strange group of criminals.

“Let’s hope they bring back a deer,” Zlatko said. “Or two. I’m sure we’re all tired of eating turkey.” He turned his eyes to Gavin, then, sudden and sharp, though he still spoke cordially. “I imagine you’ll be wanting to leave soon.”

“As soon as possible,” Gavin said into his coffee, watching him.

Zlatko just shrugged. “May as well get south and stay south. Winter is coming early.” 

“You can practically taste it,” Hal piped up, but Zlatko silenced him with a look of pity. Gavin hid his grimace in his cup. Hal was probably the most upstanding one of the lot of them, drunken snoring and all. 

“Do you feed him?” Zlatko asked suddenly, turning to Gavin, and for some reason the words absolutely struck him across the face with their inhumanity, like Nine was some animal so far below him as to not be acknowledged like a man. _Do you feed him._ Gavin hated Zlatko.

And yet, for both of their sakes, Gavin had to grind his teeth together and say, “He’s not hungry. Trust me.”

Zlatko was looking at him, appraising him, and Gavin tried to keep his face even, tried to keep the sudden burst of anger from flushing his cheeks. Nine leaned against him, then, and something about the gesture, the feel of someone else’s body, and of Nine’s body in particular, bolted him to the ground. He relaxed, and then so did Zlatko, turning his attention back to Benny to discuss their traveling schedule. East, they had said. Gavin couldn’t wait to get as far away from them as possible. Some of the others struck up another card game by the stoked-up fire, chatting amongst themselves.

Gavin had another cup of coffee and steeled his courage. He wanted to talk to Nine, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to do it in front of everybody. Nine was probably right, it was better to look like they were any other bounty hunter and criminal, instead of - whatever the ever loving fuck they actually were these days. 

Just as Gavin was preparing to take a deep breath and stand up, to haul Nine to his feet and leave this place and never look back, Zlatko was sitting with his hands on his knees and saying, “Why don’t we play a round before you leave.”

“As tempting as that is,” Gavin said, finishing the last of his coffee, “I best make good use of the daylight.”

“What better use than a game of poker?” Zlatko said. He was leaning forward. “Just one game. I was hoping to do some more gambling before you left.”

“I haven’t got anything left to bet, I’m afraid,” Gavin said evenly. Nine was suddenly like a ball of nerves sitting next to him. “Just the last of my tobacco which I am quite unwilling to part with.”

Zlatko sat back and smiled, close-mouthed, knowing. “You have something else.”

 “Only the clothes on my back,” Gavin said tightly. 

“And the man at your feet,” Zlatko said, and Gavin’s blood ran cold.

“He isn’t a chip to be bargained with,” Gavin said with his jaw clenched. His heart was threatening to explode right out of his chest. He put a hand on Nine’s shoulder and left it there. “I don’t bet on anyone’s life.”

“Ah, now, I know that’s not true,” Zlatko said, his voice tilting, patronizing, mocking, and cold, suddenly incredibly fucking cold. “You said just last night you’d bet your very own life that I am a betting man. And you are correct, I am a betting man. And I am betting that the man at your feet is someone very, very, very lucky.”

It was dead silent but for Gavin’s heartbeat, which he was sure everyone could hear. Everyone was staring at them, open-mouthed, not daring to whisper among themselves, until Nine straightened his posture, shrugged his one shoulder up and tugged the bandana down off of his face just like Gavin always told him not to do.

“Zlatko Andronikov,” Nine said. “How pleasant to see you again.”

“Lucky Number Nine. What a surprise,” Zlatko drawled in a way that was clear it wasn’t a surprise at all.

Fuck, he knew all along, he knew the entire time, and Gavin just gripped onto Nine’s shoulder, holding him in place. The others were gasping and chattering, but not Benny, not Hal, not Madeline. They all fucking knew. Gavin wondered if they knew the moment Nine stepped up next to their fire.

“So this must be Gavin Reed,” Zlatko continued. “He brought in Lou Burns not too long ago, ain’t that right Nine? I heard he’s been following you for years. I guess he finally caught up, eh?”

“Yes,” Nine said. “Finally.”

“Your father was a real fucking son of a bitch,” Zlatko said to Gavin, his eyes cold. “He arrested men I knew, good men, men with families. It’s not easy for some of us. It’s not in our nature. We’re simply not meant to be out there, in that world. You know that, Nine.” Zlatko was looking at him now, that same look of pity he had given Hal before. “Your brother didn’t, and look where that got him.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gavin said before he could stop himself.

Zlatko clucked his tongue, and Nine jerked his head to the side, speaking angrily, “My brother is dead. He does not need you of all people defending his honor.” 

“It’s been a long time, ain’t it,” Zlatko said. Nine didn’t say anything, and neither did Gavin, his face red from Nine’s outburst. Zlatko just continued, “He passed through Monte Vista on his way to die, did you know that? Course, at the time, nobody thought he’d actually kick the bucket. You two always seemed to avoid it. But once you split up, it wasn’t so simple, was it? You were always so much smarter than he was.”

Gavin felt like his skin was blistering. He didn’t know why, but hearing Zlatko talk about Connor, a man he had never known, like this, it drove him to the very edges of his already frayed temper. Maybe it was Nine, the way he sat so still, looking so collected, but Gavin alone could hear his intense, erratic breaths, feel the wave of rage rolling off of him.

Gavin desperately, absurdly wanted to hold Zlatko’s face in the fire. His hand flexed towards his gun, only for the stupidest, briefest of moments, but it was enough for Zlatko to take notice, and he drew his revolver from its holster and laid it in his lap for everyone to see.

“Now,” Zlatko said, his smile returning, “ready to play?”

Gavin sat there for what felt like a very long time. His brain rocketed through every possible scenario frantically, desperately, as it always did when he was backed into a corner, and then, with sudden clarity, Gavin said, “I’ll play, but if I could, I would like to suggest a few terms.”

Nine shifted, drawing his leg to his chest and turning his head just enough to glance at Gavin. Gavin kept his hand on him. _Please trust me,_ he thought.

Zlatko spread his hands open invitingly. “I am open to suggestions.”

“You must be tired of cards,” Gavin said, his heart hammering in his throat even as he spoke casually, unafraid. Gavin nodded towards the pile of dice by the fire. “I want to play high low.”

Zlatko considered this. “Alright, with our dice, I agree. Continue.”

“He’s going to stay right here,” Gavin said, holding Nine’s shoulders with both hands now, feeling his hot skin through the fabric. “I don’t need him talking to you.”

“Agreed,” Zlatko said. He raised an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, clearing his throat. “You’re right I’m a betting man. I said what I meant, I don’t bargain with other men’s lives. Just my own.” He felt Nine shifting under him, breathing hard like he was preparing to argue, but Gavin stayed looking straight ahead at Zlatko. “Put my life on the table. If I win, we’ll leave here without a shred of trouble from any of you. If I lose, you can have him kill me.”

Zlatko let out a long, considering breath, and sat back with his hands on his knees, regarding Gavin with something like admiration. “You must be a confident man, Gavin Reed.”

“Or stupid,” Gavin said with a grin that came far too easily along with the tight ache in his chest. “So, what do you say?”

Zlatko looked at him, his eyes flickering down to Nine, his face bare. Gavin could only imagine what his expression was. He couldn’t bring himself to look. And then, Zlatko smiled.

“I’m in,” he said. “Let’s play.”

Everyone was going mad, crowding around the fire, any talk of the returning hunters forgotten. Zlatko’s focus was drawn away as he became the center of attention. With shaking hands, Gavin reached for his tobacco. When he opened the pouch, he saw the two loaded dice inside.

He rolled a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkeys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM)
> 
>  
> 
> Please look at [more gorgeous art by @lamoluu](https://lamoluu.tumblr.com/post/187269924948/more-rivers-and-roads-mostly-chapter-16) I literally holler about this every day, they're amazing!!!
> 
> Big thanks to my sister for beta reading this massive baby- her tumblr is [@iwanttoliveinahamburgerbun](http://iwanttoliveinahamburgerbun.tumblr.com)


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